The Night of the Time Travel
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Direct sequel to The Night of the Lazarus. Jim, Arte, Coley Rodman, and Posey's gang have landed in 21st century Los Angeles. While Jim and Arte search desperately for both their current ally Coley and their continuing enemies, they also look for a way home. Meanwhile, Posey and her crew are wreaking havoc. And Coley isn't so sure he wants to return to 1874.
1. Chapter 1

**The Wild Wild West**

**The Night of the Time Travel**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the show (and any other shows) are not mine. Any remaining characters and the story are mine! This is a direct sequel and continuation of the timeline I started with _The Night of the Lazarus_, so that story probably needs to be read first. It ended with Jim, Arte, and an assorted collection of canon antagonists from the show being sent to Los Angeles in 2012. Aside from Jim, Arte, and former enemy/current ally Coley Rodman (from _The Night of the Sudden Plague_), the other main protagonist is a oneshot character from the _Hear No Evil_ episode of _Cannon_ named Ray Norman (long, long story, which you likely know if you've come from reading _Lazarus_). The main antagonists are Lucrece Posey and her gang from _The Night of the Poisonous Posey._ Expect to see many denizens of other shows set in Los Angeles to make cameo or supporting appearances, most especially the _Perry Mason_ cast.**

**Chapter One**

_**Los Angeles, California, late autumn 2012**_

_**Two weeks ago**_

He crashed hard into the grass and laid sprawled, not quite able to gain his bearings. The world was rocking, even though he was still.

At last he struggled to push himself upright, groaning under his breath. "Where is this?" he mumbled. "What the he- . . ."

One minute he had been tackling Secret Service agent James West to the floor. The next, he had been hit by the beam that he had tried to protect West from. And now he was here, dizzy and bewildered in what looked like a park.

He got to his feet, stumbling and flailing for balance. Finally he limped forward, muttering curses under his breath at the horns and engines and other annoying sounds that apparently populated this place. What a noisy . . .

What _was_ this place? He stopped at the edge of the grass, steadying himself against a lamppost. Metal, wheeled objects were racing down the street at unheard-of speeds. Buildings towered high above him, ominous and imposing in the night. Lights shone and flashed up and down the street, from buildings, signs, and even above the street.

"It's like I've died and gone to a world run by Gordon and his scientist friends," he decided.

But he . . . wasn't really _dead_, was he? He was breathing. His heart was beating. He had to still be alive.

He staggered forward, raising a hand to his head. He still hadn't fully healed from those rough knocks he had taken yesterday, when he had shot the man trying to kill Arte. Maybe that was why he was so disoriented now. That, and crashing out of thin air into this place couldn't have helped.

He paused at a newspaper stand and bent to look through the window at the paper. "2012?!" he burst out in utter disbelief when he read the date.

He had the window open in the next instant and was going through the paper under the bright lamplight. Everything he was reading was foreign to him. Oh, he understood descriptions of crimes (most of them, anyway; what was this 'identity theft'?) and economics (he had always considered himself a businessman, after all), but names and objects and technologies utterly bewildered him. He turned the paper back to the front, fixated on that date.

"This is the future," he whispered under his breath. "That crazy doc's machine sent me to the future."

Was he here alone? Had the others come as well? If not, what did they think had happened to him? Killed? Vaporized?

Would they care?

No one other than West and Gordon would care, if even _they_ would. After he had worked with Arte on that case for the past several days, he had thought that they had started to warm up to each other. But then, almost invariably, Arte seemed to revert back to the idea that he was still untrustworthy. Such as how Snakes Tolliver had managed to trick Arte into thinking that he had abandoned them just a few minutes ago.

Well . . . it was a few minutes to him, anyway.

Eh . . . regardless, Arte wouldn't want to see him killed. He was a good guy that way. Even if they had never associated other than the infamous Dr. Kirby case, he felt sure that Arte would be disturbed by his death on some level—even if it was just to regret that he had lived a wasted life.

Then there was the whole method of his "death". If they thought he was dead, they would think it had happened while saving West's life. If he was asked why he had done it, he was not sure he could answer. So he was not as bad as some people thought. He was not that good, either.

All that he could really say about it was that he had certainly not intended on dying.

Or ending up almost 140 years into the future.

He took the newspaper with him, not bothering to leave a coin in the slot. All he had was money from his time. And he had to wonder if it would still be accepted in 2012.

He could not let anyone know that he was displaced. They would think him insane. He would have to study on everything to do with this time so he would be completely knowledgeable and able to look out for himself until he could get home.

_Could_ he get home? Or was he here to stay?

He looked out at the city, his eyes narrowed. He would find out.

An arm snaked out of the darkness, hooking around his throat. Gasping in shocked surprise and pained desperation, he reached up to loosen it. Instead it held fast.

"There's no point in trying to get away," an eerily familiar voice drawled. "I've got ya."

_Little Pinto._

"Let me go," he hissed, still struggling with the arm. He was a strong fighter, but against Pinto he was all too evenly matched. Having been taken by complete surprise, he could not seem to gain the upper hand when he tried to flip Pinto over. Pinto was too prepared for it.

Instead, Pinto pressed harder against his throat, completely cutting off his oxygen. "I don't think so, Coley," he sneered. "You're mine now!"

Coley fought one last time, but it was in vain. He slumped back against Pinto, his consciousness lost. His sadistic counterpart dragged him into the shadows of the trees and brush.

"I bet there's all kinds of modern-day methods of torturing for information," Pinto grinned. "Let's see how many we can find."

_**Now**_

"This is the _future,_ Jim. I can hardly believe it!"

Arte spread his hands wildly as he and Jim wandered down the sidewalk of yet another Los Angeles street. People passed them frequently, but most did not even bat an eye. Apparently in this diverse city, dressing like you were from another time period was not always a sign that you were insane.

Either that or the people that bothered to notice had some specific idea of why Jim and Arte were dressed like that, Jim thought to himself. But he could not imagine what that idea would be.

"And this is Los Angeles!" Arte declared. "It's amazing! Remember how we thought it'd never really take off?"

Jim nodded. "I remember."

"Just look at it now. It's a sprawling metropolis!"

"It's something else, alright," said Jim.

"I _knew_ my idea for individual transportation was a good one," Arte went on. "It seems that someone else had the same idea! Look at these vehicles!" He ran his hand over a black one that was parked at the curb. "They're beautiful, just beautiful!"

Jim nodded. "I wonder how they operate," he mused.

"I don't know, but I want to learn everything there is to know about them!" Arte declared. "And about this place. I can't say much for some of these people's fashion sense, but their technology is incredible!"

A ghost of a smile flickered across Jim's features. It was good to be with Arte again, to hear him so excited. He had hated when they were apart, with Jim held captive by Dr. Faustina and Arte afraid that Jim had been killed. They had only barely reunited when Faustina's machines had malfunctioned and sent them here.

Arte was still shaken over Coley Rodman's abrupt disappearance, too. He hadn't said anything for a while, but Jim knew it was heavy on Arte's mind. No matter how enthused he was over his discoveries, he would not forget that.

Jim himself was still confused and bewildered over what had happened. It wasn't every day that he was rescued by an old enemy. Arte had promised to tell Jim the whole story of what had transpired while they had worked together, but so far he had not gotten around to it. And Jim would not push it. He could wait.

Arte was determined to believe that Rodman was still alive, brought to this time as they had been. And that could very well be true. But where he was in this new world was another matter altogether.

"First things first, Arte," Jim said finally. "We're going to need some money. And from what we know of how often the styles of currency change, how much are you willing to bet that the money we brought with us isn't any good here?"

Arte paused. "That's a good point," he said. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well . . ." Jim glanced up the street. "I was thinking. Rare coins have always turned a profit. And coins from the 1870s are probably rare here."

"So we should try selling our coins to a coin shop and get paid with whatever is the current form of exchange," Arte finished. "Brilliant!"

Jim glanced at a strange sort of moving marquee that announced the time every few minutes, along with temperature and advertisements. "The only problem is, I wonder if any coin shops would even be open this late."

Arte followed Jim's gaze. "8:30?!" He shook his head. "We'll probably have to wait until tomorrow. Unless things are different here in that respect, too. The city certainly is lively."

"Almost like it's just getting going," Jim agreed. "If we pass a coin shop we can check its hours, but my guess is that it'd be closed and the owner out painting the town red with everyone else."

"You may be right," Arte conceded. "But if that's the case, what will we do tonight?!"

"It looks like the only choice is to rough it," Jim said. "Let's look for another park."

"I wonder if sleeping in a park would be acceptable to the local law enforcement," Arte said with a nervous glance over his shoulder. They had seen several vehicles go past stamped with _Los Angeles Police Department_. The city seemed to be well patrolled.

"You mean we might get arrested if they found us," Jim said.

"Exactly. And somehow I don't think telling them the truth would go over well."

"We'd need a believable cover story," Jim agreed.

"And without knowing how things are done here, I'm not sure we could come up with one," Arte frowned. "Let's wait on the park, Jim. Let's see if we can get a better idea of what this future is like."

"Works for me," Jim said. "Where do you want to try first?"

"Well . . . there's a bookstore." Arte pointed across the street. "And judging from all the lights and the people inside, it looks like it's still open. What better way to learn about a people than through what they read?"

"Barnes and Noble Booksellers," Jim read. "Lead on, Arte."

Arte could not help breaking into a grin as they crossed the street. Yes, he was worried about Coley. He was concerned about how he and Jim and anyone else here were going to get home.

But that could not curb his anticipation at visiting what looked like the largest bookstore he had ever seen.

xxxx

Ray Norman parked the golf cart in back of the Oak Bridge Golf Club's main building and got out, then crossed to the passenger side and tried to gently lift his unconscious visitor. Getting an arm around his back, and carefully draping the other's limp arm around his shoulders, he started to ease the younger man out of the cart. The wounded fellow gave a violent start, trying to pull away.

"No, no, it's alright," Ray protested. "You came to me for help, remember?"

He groaned, going limp again. "You're not Pinto?"

"No. My name is Ray Norman." Finally, with his guest's stumbling help, he had him out of the cart. Ray started to walk him towards the building. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No. It's fine. Just . . ." He flinched. "Be careful of the arm."

Ray involuntarily shuddered at the memory of the cruel cuts and the burn on the right arm. "This Pinto isn't coming after you, is he?" he asked in concern.

"I don't think so. I knocked him senseless and broke out. He liked messing with me, but I can't picture him going to the trouble of getting me back."

"Why did he want you so badly?" Ray asked in horror.

A weak shrug. "He thought it was funny how we look a lot alike but we're nothing alike otherwise. He wanted to figure out what makes me tick."

Ray nearly stopped walking. "That's sick!" he cried. "It's just like . . ." But he trailed off. He could not bring himself to mention the name of the person he feared so greatly.

"Like what?"

"Nevermind. Come in here." Ray opened the back door and helped the injured man inside. "Your name is Coley Rodman, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

Trying to think how to keep the semi-conscious Rodman awake, Ray went on, "I don't think I've ever heard the name _Coley_ before. Is that a diminutive of _Cole_?"

"No." Rodman's voice was flat and matter-of-fact, but still slurred. "My name is Coley. Always has been. I hate nicknames. Don't try to use one on me."

"Alright, I won't. I was just wondering. _Coley_ must not be a very common name these days."

"It never has been. _Ray_'s always been pretty popular, though. It's usually short for something."

"Not in my case," Ray said.

Coley gave a weak shrug. "So we have that in common, anyway."

Ray managed to get him into the back lounge and to the couch. "Lay here." He lowered Rodman to the couch and watched him sink into it with a shudder. Ray bent over him, surveying the badly torn shirt and the bruised and tattered flesh through the openings. "I . . . I'll have to take what's left of your shirt off," he said apologetically.

"Go ahead."

Ray unbuttoned it, but then abandoned the effort and tore the sleeves the rest of the way to free Rodman's arms. A chill went up his spine.

"Your arms seem to be damaged worse than anything else," he exclaimed.

"I was trying to protect myself," Rodman mumbled. "And you're right, the worst damage is to them . . . except for that electric shock to all of me."

"_What?!"_ Ray cried. "Why did he . . ."

"He tried to kill me just to see if he could bring me back to life. I showed him, though. I didn't die." Rodman smirked, but it was filled with pain.

Ray gaped at him. "I didn't think it was possible that there could be more than one person as evil as that woman."

"What woman?"

"No one you would know. I hope," Ray added. "But for you to have been electrocuted like that . . . oh, you need to go to the hospital." He shook his head in horror. "It's a miracle you're alive, to say nothing of being able to _walk._"

"No!" Rodman clutched Ray's wrist. "I'll be alright with some rest. Just bind up these wounds." He tried to press the previously offered 1874 coin into Ray's hand. "Take this to a coin dealer. What you get for it will pay you well."

Ray took the coin and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll worry about that later," he said. "I'll get a first-aid kit."

Rodman nodded and slumped back into the couch. He looked like he was slipping out of consciousness again.

Ray hurried to the nearest rest room and dug the first-aid kit out of the cupboard. He had it open and was going through the contents before he had fully made his way back.

"So you still say you're from the 1870s?" he asked as he returned. Removing the antiseptic wipes, he set the rest of the kit on the table and knelt to cleanse the cuts and that horrific burn.

Rodman flinched at the sting. "Yes. It's the truth."

"Don't you know people will think you're insane if you say that?"

"I haven't been saying it. I just told you."

Ray blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know." Rodman looked confused, then annoyed. "I'll probably hate myself in the morning."

Ray swallowed. It was probably because of the delirium. He was sick and weak and pale.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

Ray drew a shuddering breath. "I don't know what I think," he admitted. "It's certainly the most logical assumption, and yet . . ." He shook his head. "Oh, I'm the wrong person to ask. I've been crazy myself. I'm not any judge of a man's sanity."

He blinked in stunned shock. What was he _doing?_ It was not like him to go blabbing about what had happened to him and how it had affected him. It had even been difficult for the doctors to drag it out of him. Had he felt comfortable saying it to Rodman because of the anguish they had each come through?

"You don't act crazy."

"That was before," Ray said. "I'm better now. At least, that's what they tell me." He reached for the gauze and began gently wrapping it around the worst wounds.

"You don't believe it?"

"I . . . oh, what's the matter with me? I shouldn't be telling you this."

Rodman opened one eye, then the other. "It's not every day I meet someone who thinks he's off his chair. And since you're taking care of me, maybe I need to know why."

Ray's hands shook. "Yes, I suppose you do, but I . . ." He trailed off. "I was tortured too," he admitted quietly. "For two years I was slowly driven out of my mind."

Rodman's glazed eyes widened. "By that woman you were talking about," he realized. "And you came back from it enough to be as you are now." He wearily closed his eyes. "What's two weeks compared to that?" he muttered in disgust.

"It looks like it was a horrible two weeks," Ray said.

"It was," Rodman conceded.

"You've been suffering too. You still are." Ray moved to start on the burn. "Don't discount that."

"If you say so."

The burn really looked bad in the light. "How long ago did this happen?" Ray gasped. He could hardly stand to look at it, yet he could not bring himself to look away. He had hallucinated so many burns on his own skin, when Dr. Portman had simulated burning in Hell, but this was the real thing.

"Maybe a week ago," Rodman mumbled. "I don't remember. He didn't get to that for a while, not until he discovered the thing that made it. What's it called, an iron?"

Ray set his jaw. "It was this Little Pinto who did this?"

"Yeah. With the way it's healing, I guess it's probably here to stay."

Ray shook his head. "I don't think I can do much for this. You really should go to a doctor."

Rodman tried to jerk his wrist away. "No."

"If you're worried they won't believe you, just don't say anything about where you're from," Ray countered.

"It's not that simple," Coley replied.

Giving up, Ray tried to gently cleanse and treat the burn. "What do you mean?"

"All the hoops they put you through before they'll treat you. Asking how it happened is just the beginning."

"You know quite a lot, if you really aren't from this time," Ray noted.

"Some things haven't changed much. Look, suppose I tell that I was tortured. Or even if I don't, they'll probably guess. And they'll have to call the police. If I tell them about Pinto, they'll think I'm nuts. If I don't, they'll keep hanging around to learn more, thinking I know more than I'm saying."

"Just tell them about him, but not where either of you are from," Ray said.

"That wouldn't work. See, then they'd try to find Pinto in their files to see if he's a known criminal. And just what if some old file is lying around and they find out he's from the past? Then I go straight to the crazy house."

Ray sighed. "I can't blame you for worrying about that. It would be terrible to go there if you really aren't out of your mind."

"Exactly."

Ray leaned over farther, to start on Coley's left arm. "How about a compromise? If you don't seem to be doing better in the morning, I'll take you to the hospital."

"Two days."

"You're stubborn."

"You have to be stubborn to get things done."

Those were Coley's last fully coherent words that night. For the next few hours he teetered in and out of consciousness, sometimes dreaming, sometimes rambling in his delirium.

Ray stayed by his side, tending to him, listening to his slurred tales of the Old West and outlaws and mad scientists in towers.

And, he found himself realizing, he believed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Stepping through the heavy double-doors into Barnes and Noble revealed a veritable paradise to Arte. For a moment he could only stop and stare, taking in the rows and rows of shelves, subjects, and the size of the store.

"Incredible," he breathed at last.

Jim observed in fond amusement and, admittedly, his own favorable impressions of the new store. It was unlike anything either of them had ever before seen. "What do you want to try first, Arte?"

"Technology," Arte responded immediately. "No, geography. No . . ."

He looked so hopelessly conflicted that Jim chuckled. "I'll look up the geography," he said. "Look up technology to your heart's content."

Arte looked to him, his smile broadening in relief. "Thank you, James," he declared.

Jim shrugged. "My pleasure."

It was hard to say how much time they spent in their respective locations. Jim wrote down information, noting the states (he was amazed by both Alaska and Hawaii), cities, and other vital statistics, while Arte became completely involved in a book on automobiles and could not refrain from exclaiming aloud at some passages.

When Jim left the travel area, his wanderings eventually took him to the back of the store, where a separate music department was housed. He raised an eyebrow as he strolled past, pausing at a headphone station to study the unfamiliar device. He went closer, quickly reading through the instructions. Apparently this was a way of trying music before buying it. But where did the music come from?

Removing his hat, he put on the headphones and pressed a number. The sounds that suddenly assaulted his ears left him gasping as he pulled the headphones away. _This_ was modern music?!

Another customer glanced over. "Not a Stones fan?"

Jim looked back with a confused blink. "What?"

The illustration above the number pad answered the question, more or less. Across the top were the words _The Rolling Stones Greatest Hits._ The image, however, did very little to ease Jim's bewilderment. What sort of logo was an open mouth and extended tongue?

"No," he said quickly. "No, I don't think I'm a fan."

The containers called DVDs completely baffled him. They all seemed to describe plots, ranging from humorous to dramatic and everything in between, but what were they? How did one read or view the plots?

At last Jim gave up. He doubted it would be a good idea to unwrap one of the cases here in the store. He would wait and see if Arte had learned anything about them and their use.

He wandered back into the book area.

He was most unsurprised when, an hour from the time of their initial arrival, he found Arte walking down an aisle, engrossed in another volume. But as he approached, he _was_ surprised to see what Arte had currently picked up.

"_Outlaws of the Western United States_," he read from the cover.

Arte started and looked up. "Oh. Jim! Can you believe this place? They have books on just about every topic you could think of, and many more that you'd never dream up in a million years. I must have filled half my notepad with information!"

"Only half?" Jim quipped.

"I can easily fill up the rest, let me tell you." Arte turned his attention back to the book, having finally found the page he wanted. He sobered as he read.

Jim leaned over, correctly suspecting he would find the entry for Coley Rodman.

The photograph was one Jim had never before seen. Coley was on the street, half-turned as if to leave, but glancing back in mild annoyance at the realization someone was taking his picture.

"That's Rodman for you," Arte said with a weak smirk. He sighed, pointing at the bottom of the blurb. "'Vanished without a trace in 1874 and was never heard of since.' How much are you willing to bet that somewhere there's a book that says the very same thing about us?"

"Quite a bit," Jim said. He laid one hand over the other. "Arte, what happened between you and Rodman, anyway? I've got to admit, it was strange going from knowing that he's our enemy and that you had him prisoner to seeing both of you running into Dr. Faustina's laboratory more like you were equals. And that's saying nothing about realizing he tried to save my life."

Arte walked back up the aisle and replaced the book on the shelf. He stared at the assorted volumes, resting his hand in front of them as he spoke again.

"I met Rodman right after the explosion," he said quietly. "His horse was going crazy and I thought he must've set the bomb and killed you. He kept insisting he didn't do it and that he could and would prove it, so I made him my prisoner during the investigation.

"He never once tried to get away or do anything to harm me. I kept doubting him—not unreasonably, of course—but as I mentioned, he saved my life.

"We talked off and on over those strange days. I preferred talking to him than sitting lost in my thoughts after . . . well, anyway." Arte turned, leaning on the shelf with an elbow.

"You mentioned something about him talking about Dr. Kirby," Jim prompted.

"Oh yes. Dr. Kirby." Arte pushed away from the shelf altogether and walked towards the back wall, Jim trailing behind. "Basically, he told me he wouldn't have any of the doctor's plan to murder entire towns and cities. And that even though he did go to the lab trying to get rid of Kirby, he ended up shooting in self-defense because Kirby went wild and drew on him without knowing why he was there. He said you didn't see it happen."

"And you believed him," Jim remarked. "After everything's he done." He did not confirm or deny the tale. It _could _have happened that way. And he knew Arte was not easy to fool, especially by a past nemesis. That knowledge certainly helped make Jim more receptive to what sounded like a wild story.

"Yes, I believed him," Arte said. "Not so much right at first, but later. And I believe him now."

Jim tilted his head to the side. "Why, Arte? Not that I'm disputing your opinion. I'm just naturally curious as to how Rodman got so deeply under your skin. You've despised him even more than I have."

"I know. But . . ." Arte threw up his hands. "It's hard to explain. You really kind of have to be around him, talk with him. Most of what he said genuinely surprised me, and more often than not, not in a bad way. I didn't want to like him or find anything good about him, but I did. And then he finished it up by going and trying to save you."

"Saying something I never thought _I'd_ hear him say," Jim agreed. "He made it sound like he was trying to protect me because of how upset you'd be if something happened to me."

Arte sighed and nodded. "He saw how badly everything was affecting me. I guess he decided to do something about it when it looked like something would go wrong again."

"He really is a mystery," Jim said.

"I just hope he's alright." Arte frowned. "If Miss Posey and her gang are all here too, I hate to think what might happen. And not just to him, either, but to the world."

"For all of its modern technology, I'm not sure the current world is ready for wild cards like Cyril the Firebug and Little Pinto," Jim grunted.

"Our world certainly wasn't." Arte sighed. "I thought at least we didn't have them to worry about anymore. Now they're all back, thanks to Dr. Faustina."

Jim was preempted from replying by a sudden announcement throughout the store.

"_Attention, Barnes and Noble customers. The store will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please bring your final purchases to the nearest register. Thank you for shopping with Barnes and Noble!"_

Arte stared in the direction of the ceiling, from whence the sound had come. "I wish we could make some purchases," he said.

"Well, maybe tomorrow, after we have some valid currency, we can come back," Jim said.

"I hope so," Arte nodded. "Meanwhile, though, Jim, what about tonight?"

Jim shrugged. "Find the nearest park."

"And if we're picked up by the police?"

"We'll say our luggage and money was stolen when we got in town."

Arte considered that. "Good enough for me," he said. "Let's just hope it will be good enough for them, too."

xxxx

It was nearing morning by the time Lucrece Posey picked her way over the disastrous mess left in the old warehouse after Coley's final fight with Pinto. It looked like one of California's infamous earthquakes had hit. Nothing had been left standing, even the metal shelves at the back of the storage area.

Lucrece smirked, just slightly. Once Rodman had managed to get a burst of strength, he had used it to the fullest possible extent, determined to free himself from the Hell Pinto had created. And Rodman had caught Pinto completely off-guard, just as Pinto had done to him a fortnight earlier. Catching Pinto off-guard was not an easy thing to do.

Perhaps Pinto had underestimated him from the beginning. Rodman was not bent on sadism, nor was he anywhere as hardened as Pinto and Lucrece, but that did not mean he was not formidable.

She came to stand over Pinto's body, sprawled unceremoniously atop several fallen shelves and even a beam or two. An eyebrow quirked. He was alive; she could see him breathing. But even after two weeks of torture, Rodman had certainly bested him this past night. Who knew where he was now.

She shook her head. She had long ago learned to allow Pinto to indulge in his sadistic fascinations. What he came up with was sometimes useful, after all. But it was just as well that Rodman had put an end to it. They needed to be about other business now.

She cuffed him lightly in the side with the toe of her boot. "Pinto," she commanded. "Wake up."

Pinto stirred, moving an arm slowly over the cold shelves. He revived silently, which was usual for him, and finally opened his eyes, looking up at her. She looked back, unmoved. He pulled himself upright, raising a hand to his head.

She crossed her arms. "It seems your latest subject got away," she remarked.

"It seems so," Pinto returned easily. He found the sore spot and flinched. He then approached it again, gingerly, with the tips of his fingers. "How long was I out?"

"I wouldn't know," Lucrece said boredly. "A while. It took me a long time to get through the door. It was blocked by several wooden crates."

"We really tore up the place, didn't we."

"Yes, you did." Lucrece pushed aside a teetering beam in emphasis. "If you're quite recovered, we should be going. We still haven't rounded up the others yet, in spite of going out in between your sessions with Mr. Rodman."

"Maybe they got lost in time and haven't even shown up yet," Pinto shrugged. "We haven't seen West or Gordon yet, either, and they came with us."

"Regardless, you spent too much time experimenting with Mr. Rodman. It's been over two weeks since our own arrival."

Pinto gradually pulled himself upright, balancing himself with a precarious shelf. "But I've figured out how some of these new devices work," he protested.

"Yes, and perhaps that will serve us if we're here for a while. In our own time, however, most of what you've learned is quite useless, since the majority of those devices haven't been invented yet."

"Can we even get home?" Pinto wondered. "Maybe it was a one-way trip."

Lucrece's lips went into a straight line. "Maybe," she agreed. "But we don't know."

Pinto gave a wicked grin. "I can't say I'd mind sticking around."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Lucrece agreed. "This future might hold untold-of opportunities for us. We'll see. But right now we have to throw ourselves into finding the others."

Pinto was agreeable to that. He walked with her to the nearest door, opening it for her. She stepped through, with him not far behind.

It was interesting how Pinto was so sadistic around most people, but around her he was always a complete gentleman.

She could manage just fine without Pinto or any other man, but she did not want to if she did not have to. As long as Pinto was always aware that she was the boss, she liked having him around.

And she doubted that Pinto would ever forget. He cared about her too much. Perhaps someday it would be his downfall, these deep feelings he held for someone who could never return them, but not today.

xxxx

It was strange to wake up to the sound of a steady motor. Coley flung up a hand, as if to grab his pillow and hide under it, but instead it landed against a different kind of something soft.

Something soft that _moved._

His eyes flew open. Round green eyes were looking back at him from the top of the couch.

Round green eyes that peered out from amid a myriad of long, silvery fur.

"A cat?!" he mumbled in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," came a vaguely familiar voice from above him. "Mrs. Featherstone's cat got out again. She didn't seem to be bothering you, so I didn't try to make her leave. She's very well-behaved."

Coley turned, squinting at the blond man sitting near him. Finally, slowly, the memories of the past night eased back into his mind. "Oh. You're Ray Norman, right?"

"That's right." Ray leaned over. "How are you feeling?"

Coley gave a weak shrug. "Like I was hit by a train."

Ray sighed. "I don't know if you remember, but we agreed that if you weren't feeling better after a reasonable amount of time, I'd take you to the hospital."

"I've only been here a few hours, haven't I?"

Ray studied him, wondering how much he remembered about those hours and what he had said. "You've been ill in those hours," he said.

"Great," Coley growled. "How much?"

"You . . . talked a lot." Ray spoke carefully.

"I don't remember anything very well after I ran into you, and nothing after we agreed on two days before the hospital," Coley said flatly. "Are you saying I talked after that?"

Ray nodded. "Mostly you spoke about the other members of a gang you were leading," he said. "And a mad scientist who was inventing new strains of bacteria."

Coley cringed. "I'm surprised I didn't wake up in the crazy house."

"I wouldn't send you there," Ray insisted.

Coley looked to him with a start. "Why not?" The suspicions were clear in his eyes. He was used to being cheated and betrayed. Arte was a man of his word, but he had a higher code of honor than many of the people Coley encountered. And Coley did not know this man. He did not know what to expect from him. Ray had been the first person Coley had seen since his escape from Pinto. In his state, he would have begged for help from anyone.

Ray looked down at his hands. "In the past, I wouldn't have sent you there because I could hold what you said over your head and bleed you dry, monetarily speaking."

Coley tensed. "So you're a blackmailer. Or is that, you _were_ a blackmailer?" He narrowed his eyes, still not sure what to think.

"I _was_ a blackmailer." Ray finally met Coley's gaze again. "But I'll never do that any more. I never want to do anything else illegal as long as I live!"

Coley peered at him. "You could be lying. How do I know you're not?"

"Unfortunately, you can't," said Ray. "You have only my word, which I'm afraid would never be enough to satisfy your kind."

"I said enough so you know my 'kind', but you're not running scared?" Coley rested a hand on his forehead. "I'm worse than a blackmailer. I could be a danger to you."

"Not in your condition," Ray returned. "Anyway, after what I heard, I don't think you'd hurt me. You wouldn't have any reason to."

"Don't tell me you think I'm soft. I'm not."

"You're not soft," Ray agreed, "but you're not hard, either. You still have enough decency that I don't believe you'd hurt someone who's only tried to help you."

"It's not something I make a practice of doing," Coley admitted. "But if I talked about that doc, then you probably know how that turned out."

"He wasn't trying to help you," Ray said firmly. "All he wanted was for you to test his experiments. And then he tried to kill you. Of course you'd have to shoot him."

Coley closed one eye. "You're pretty sure of yourself."

Ray's eyes flickered. "Let's just say I know mad scientists. I put together what happened from what you said."

". . . Oh, that's right. You said you were tortured by one."

Ray exhaled. "I wasn't sure you'd remember."

"I remember, somewhere through the fuzz in my head.

". . . And speaking of fuzz, why is Mrs. Featherstone's cat out?!"

Ray looked embarrassed. "She lifts the latch on the cabin door and even unlocks and turns the knob, so she can roam all over the club. Mrs. Featherstone doesn't mind. She's a wealthy guest, a lonely old woman who doesn't have anyone except this silver Persian cat. She stays here indefinitely. And since the cat doesn't do any harm and . . . well, I need the money . . . I let her do what she wants. As long as there aren't any allergic guests, of course."

Coley grunted. "She's just sitting here watching me. I don't like being watched."

"She came last night," Ray said. "You were delirious."

"So she's been watching me for hours. Is that supposed to make me feel good?"

"She must have taken an interest in you," Ray told him. "Do you not like cats?"

"If they don't scratch and claw and bite, I can take or leave them," Coley said. "I can get along with almost anything if it doesn't make a nuisance of itself."

"She never does any of that," Ray promised. "But . . . she might try to get your attention in strange ways sometimes." This he said with a funny smile.

"What do you mean by that?" Coley grunted.

"If you stay around long enough, you'll find out," Ray said.

Coley did not offer a reply to that. He sank further into the couch, still not up to par. After what Pinto had done to him, he wondered if he would feel like moving before the designated second day. All he wanted to do was rest.

"I should have taken you to one of the vacant cabins," Ray berated. "Last night I was worried about just getting you to the first possible place where I could take care of your wounds, so I brought you here. And then you lapsed into unconsciousness before I was finished."

"The couch is fine, for now," Coley said.

". . . You never did say why you wouldn't send me to the nut house if you weren't trying to blackmail me," he remembered.

Ray gave him a long look. "Because I know you're not crazy," he said. "And before that it was because . . . oh, I don't know." He turned away. "Maybe I didn't want them to think you were."

"I'm nobody to you," Coley said. "What would it matter if they did? I'd be out of your way."

Ray half-turned back. "It would matter," he said.

He said it with such conviction that Coley found himself believing Ray meant it, although he still didn't know why.

At the moment, he wondered if _Ray_ knew why.

"And you say you _know_ I'm not crazy," Coley pressed. "How could you _know?_"

Ray sighed. "I was coming to that. I did some research while you were sleeping. I confirmed everything you said. Well, about those Secret Service agents and the Posey gang and you yourself." He shook his head. "Even though I was coming to believe you, I think you could have knocked me over with a feather when I found a picture of you from 1874."

"Heh. I'll bet."

On the top of the couch, the cat meowed.

Coley looked over at her. "What do you want?" he demanded.

She stretched across the plush material, starting up the purring motor again. Her fluffy tail thumped on the couch.

"Does she have a name?" Coley wondered. Not that he particularly _cared,_ but it would be nice to know if she could be referred to by anything other than _the cat._

Ray nodded, again with that funny smile. "Long Jane Silver."

Coley stared at him. "You're kidding."

Ray ran a hand through his hair. "Mrs. Featherstone is . . . well, _unique._ She's very generous, though," he quickly added. "She's promised to leave all of her money to me and to the club, if Jane is provided for."

"Is that why you let her roam all around?"

"No," Ray said. "Well . . . I'll admit that the continuing money would be a big help. But I haven't tried to butter Mrs. Featherstone up."

"You're just a good-hearted guy then." This was said with some amount of sarcasm.

Ray, however, sobered. "I try to be. I spent so many years not caring about anyone; I have a lot to make up for." He gazed into the distance. "There's already a lot I never _can_ make up for—lives I ruined because of my greed."

Coley felt uncomfortable, both because of what a near-stranger was confessing to him and because he was sure Ray was being too hard on himself, particularly in light of his present company. "You were just trying to make your way in the world," he said.

"Oh, I didn't need to rely on blackmail," Ray said in disgust. "I had enough income from the club." He sighed. "But nevermind; I shouldn't be burdening you with that.

"Do you feel like eating anything?"

Coley shrugged. "Maybe in a while."

"I've probably been tiring you out," Ray said with regret. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you to rest." He stood, crossing the room. "I'll check on you before long. Meanwhile, I'll make sure you're not bothered in here when the guests start milling around."

"Thanks," Coley mumbled.

Ray stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Jane watched him go and then stretched again, yawning. She seemed to have no intention of leaving.

Coley looked to her. "You don't look like a pirate to me," he said.

She flicked an ear.

Coley muttered under his breath as he relaxed into the cushions and began again to doze. This was quite possibly the strangest situation he had ended up in yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: A very small reference is made to my story **_**The Night of the Moving Wound**_**, in the form of character Carl Armory, who is from the **_**Bonanza**_** episode **_**Her Brother's Keeper.**_** He is played by Wesley Lau, as Ray Norman also is.**

**Chapter Three**

_It was happening again, and Arte was helpless to prevent it. He knew what was coming—he __**knew**__ it, just as he had known what would happen in the Day mansion before they arrived—but he could not move, he could not even speak. He could only sit there, on his horse, staring helplessly as Jim walked ahead to the rock._

_The explosion ripped through the Nevada desert. And only then, as the flames climbed into the sky, was Arte's tongue loosed._

"_Jim! __**JIM!**__" he screamed._

_He flew down from the horse and ran over, praying so desperately. The trapdoor had to be in the desert floor. Jim had to have fallen through it. He had to be alive._

_A flaming black hat swirled out of the blaze, rolling to a stop at his feet. He looked down at it, shaking, staring. This had not happened before. Did that mean . . ._

"_NO!" He ran around the other side of the rock, frantic, struggling to dig his fingers into the slit at the top of the door. It would not budge._

"_Jim!" he shouted. "Jim, you have to be in there! Open the door from the other side! __**Please.**__ Come out! COME OUT!"_

_The sound of cruel laughter made him spin around, heart pounding. Coley Rodman was there, sneering at Arte from his own horse._

"_Go ahead, pull on that rock until your fingers are raw and bleeding. There's no secret door in that rock. No trapdoor under the fire, no miraculous rescue. He's dead this time, Gordon. Accept it."_

_Arte just gawked at him, not believing his eyes or his ears. "Rodman, you saved his life. What are you talking about? We got out of this mess! Jim is alive. I proved you didn't have anything to do with the explosion! And now you're here, taking the greatest of pleasure in his death, which couldn't have happened because it __**didn't **__happen!"_

_Rodman shrugged. "If you believed all that about me, and even West being alive, you're more gullible than I thought. Yes, I set the bomb. I killed West. But I won't kill you too. I've already done the worst thing to you that I possibly could."_

_Arte tried to digest what he was being told, the conflict raging in his heart. Part of him wanted to lunge at Rodman in outrage and grief over this betrayal. But instead he held back. This was not the man he had spoken with for the last few days. This was Coley Rodman as Arte had envisioned him when he had first seen him on the desert that dark night. It was a Coley Rodman who did not exist._

"_Who are you?" he said darkly._

"_What?" Rodman regarded him with both amusement and disbelief._

"_You're not Coley Rodman," Arte growled. He drew his gun. "WHO ARE YOU?"_

_The other man leaned forward, his lips twisted in a wretched grin. "You really know that too, don't you?"_

_A chill went up Arte's spine. "Little Pinto," he whispered._

"_Right you are." Pinto straightened, ridding himself of Coley's dark gloves. "You know, it's a real shame poor Coley can't know that you stood up for him and believed him at last."_

"_Do you know where he is?!" Arte demanded._

"_Sure I do." Pinto reached behind him, pushing away a lifeless body that Arte only noticed now had been draped over the horse. It hit the desert floor with a merciless, cruel thump._

_Arte fell to his knees, reaching to check for life. But the haunting look of surprise in Coley's sightless brown eyes said loud and clear that there was nothing to find._

_Arte looked back up in growing anger and fury. "You killed him," he realized. "Just like you killed Jim!" He got to his feet. "You murdered them both!"_

_Pinto cackled. "And now you can bury them both. If there's anything left of West to bury!" He tossed Arte a spade, his insane laughter ringing through the cold night._

"Arte! Arte, wake up. You're dreaming."

Arte started out of his mind as Jim shook him awake. He flung up his arms, still half in his nightmare. "Get away!" he cried. "Leave me alone, Pinto. Haven't you done enough?!"

"Arte, it's me."

Arte stiffened. "Jim?" He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, gazing up at his closest friend. Jim was looking at him in concern.

Arte slumped back into the grass, running a hand into his hair. "Oh brother. Have I been dreaming up a horror."

Jim rocked back, satisfied that Arte was awake. "What happened?"

"We were back in Justice," Arte explained. "The explosion happened again, just like the first time. Only there wasn't any trapdoor." His voice cracked. "You were really . . ."

Jim narrowed his eyes, resting a hand on Arte's shoulder. "And Pinto was there?"

"Oh yes." Arte nodded. "He tried to pretend to be Rodman and claim that he'd set the bomb, just like I'd thought." He gazed into the sky in growing amazement. "Only . . . I didn't believe him. I realized he was impersonating Rodman."

"Is that how you really would react if Rodman showed up and supposedly told you he'd set the bomb?"

Arte considered the question. "I think it is." He sat up. "Then Pinto revealed that he'd killed the real Coley. And in reality I'm still worried that he's dead. Whether or not Pinto had a hand in it is anyone's guess."

"I'm alive," Jim said. "And what happened to us was no doubt what happened to Rodman. If Pinto found him, I doubt Pinto would kill him. At least, not right away."

Arte sighed. "I'm just letting my imagination run away with me," he said ruefully. "I think there was a little bit of a guilt complex in there, too."

Jim tilted his head. "Guilt complex?"

"Uh huh. Over both not being able to save you and how I never could quite seem to trust Rodman for very long."

"Both understandable," Jim said. "But you don't need to feel guilty about either one."

"I know, I know. It's not as easy as simply telling myself that, however.

"And it's funny, how the nightmares are coming now."

"They weren't before?"

"No. I don't think I was dreaming at all before." Arte stared off at nothing. "It was like I was too numb to dream. I tried everything I could to keep myself from thinking about you being dead. And now that you're here, it's like the floodgates have suddenly spilled open." He shook his head, covering his eyes with a hand. "I would've rather continued not dreaming at all."

Jim looked at him with sympathy. "It's probably just that now you're too overwhelmed to feel numb. I'm back, but things still aren't normal, not by a long shot."

"You're right there." Arte sighed. "And who knows if they ever will be again."

"At least we weren't disturbed last night," Jim said lightly. "Come on, let's see what we can do about getting these coins exchanged and then maybe we can find something to eat."

As if on cue, Arte's stomach rumbled with indignation. Arte clapped his hand over it. "That, James my boy, is an absolutely excellent idea," he declared. "I don't think I've eaten a thing since Rodman and I were in the dining room of the Justice is Blind Hotel."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "That must have been a long time ago."

"Too long," Arte agreed. He pulled himself up. "Let's be off!"

Neither of them noticed the figure standing behind a thick tree. "So," the man grinned to himself as he struck a match, "we are all in the same place."

If the Secret Service agents were here, after all, then it seemed likely that everyone else was as well.

And that was perfectly satisfying to Cyril the Firebug.

xxxx

_The rope around his neck was burning. His eyes flew open and his hands flew up, struggling desperately to undo the loop in spite of his shaking fingers. He had to get it off. He had to get it __**off . . . !**_

"_Well, I'd say you're ready for a hanging."_

_He looked up with a start, chilled at Pinto's voice. "No more than you," he retorted. "Maybe less."_

_Pinto sneered. "Oh, now don't be like that. Just take your medicine and have it over and done with. All I have to do is drop the floor out from under you and you'll be dangling from the ceiling here. Coley Rodman, outlaw, stretched out for the world to see. I just hope you'll strangle to death instead of breaking your neck. It's more lingering and painful that way."_

_Coley responded by kicking out, knocking Pinto off the platform. His heart pounded with anxiety and adrenaline. He had to get down. He would not die here, not now._

_The panel fell open under his feet. He gasped and choked at the sudden pressure against his throat. Pinto had known what he was doing. The way he had placed the rope, Coley was going to strangle._

"_You didn't think I'd miss your hanging, did you, Rodman?"_

_He was still struggling with the noose. Perhaps to be even crueler, Pinto had not bound his hands. And the new voice stunned him. "Gordon?!" he rasped. "This isn't legal. Help me!"_

_Artemus Gordon stood below him, crossing his arms. "You deserve to die. Why not just let it happen now? You'll hang later anyway."_

"_You were supposed to fix it!" Coley shot back. He was barely able to speak. The rope pulled tighter against his neck. He was losing consciousness fast._

"_Sorry. I told you I wasn't sure what I could do. Turns out I couldn't do a thing."_

_Coley fought to blink away the spots in front of his eyes. "You aren't him," he sputtered. "He's honorable. He'd get me down. He . . ."_

_The rope jerked hard, forcing one chilling yelp of agony from his lips. As he sank out of awareness and life altogether, the fake Arte's words rang in his ears._

"_Oh, I'll get you down, Rodman. I'll cut your dead corpse down from the ceiling in a few minutes. And your spirit can just sink down to Hades, where it belongs. I hate you. I __**hate**__ you! Do you hear me?!"_

_One weak moan was all that Coley could muster._

He woke up as he fell off the couch, crashing hard on the floor. Still half in his nightmare he screamed, clawing at his neck. But all that came away was his old bandanna.

He held it in front of his eyes, not comprehending, his heart still racing. But then at last his shoulders slumped and he went limp on the floor in utter relief.

"I'm alive," he whispered.

Pinto had tried to hang him during those Hellish weeks. He had let the floor out, pulling the noose tighter and tighter until Coley was in a complete panic, thrashing and fighting to get it off. Then, without warning, he had released the rope and sent Coley plunging to the floor in a heap.

Something nudged his arm. He flinched, the pain from the burn and the cuts flaring again. But before he could order the something to stop, it was right in his face, bumping against his cheek. He muttered, reaching to push it back. "I'm alright. Don't do that."

Jane obeyed. But she walked around and curled up against his side. Giving up, he left her there. She wasn't disturbing any wounds in that spot, although he frankly just wondered what she saw in him. Cats were unpredictable creatures.

Maybe in a few minutes he would have the strength to move. For now he had to just lay here on the floor.

And that displeased him. It was cold, and there was an unpleasant draft coming up from under the door and through the windows.

"I'll probably get pneumonia on top of everything else," he grumbled. His arms shaking, he tried to push himself up.

"Rodman?!"

The door flew open and Ray hurried across the hardwood, bending down to help him up. "Rodman, what happened?!"

Coley allowed the help, too weak to resist. But he was also too mortified to say what had really happened. "I . . ." He slumped against Ray. "Sorry. Were any of the guests disturbed when I yelled?"

"I don't think so," said Ray. "I was down the hall when I heard you. I came as fast as I could.

"You fell off the couch, didn't you?"

Coley wouldn't meet his gaze. "That wasn't why I yelled."

Ray sighed. "Look, I'm taking you to a room right now, like I should have done to begin with. You can stay in a proper bed."

Coley did not protest. A bed sounded good to him. He limped along, mostly letting Ray walk for him but trying to move himself when he could.

Ray did not press him into further talk. They traveled in silence down the hall, Jane at their heels. It was nicely furnished, with red carpet and hickory tables and assorted plants. Paintings on either wall displayed landscapes and pleasant yards. Every now and then was a golfing-related painting, of a course or a man ready to tee off or even a waiting golf cart.

At last they came to a series of doors. Ray balanced Coley with one arm while taking out a plastic card and swiping it through a slot in the first door. It unlocked and he pushed it open.

"Here," he said, helping Coley inside and over to the bed. Grateful, Coley collapsed on it without even waiting for the covers to be turned back.

Ray shut the door behind them. "You're burning up with fever," he said. "You can't lay on top of the covers."

Coley shook his head. "I'm not moving." He doubted he even could. The journey down the hall had taken any remaining strength he had.

Ray sighed. "Alright. Just a minute." He hurried to a closet in the room and took out another comforter quilt. Spreading it out, he returned to the bed and threw it over his unusual guest. Coley turned painstakingly onto his back before burrowing into it and the mattress.

"Now I'm going to take your temperature," Ray announced. "And don't bother resisting it; I need to know if you'll need a hospital."

"No," Coley mumbled. "No hospital."

"I don't want to send you away," Ray said. "I don't know what might happen to you somewhere else. But I don't want you to stay here if you need expert medical care."

This time he went into the attached bathroom. He came back with a first-aid kit and set it on the nightstand. Digging out a thermometer, he stuck it in Coley's mouth before he could protest.

Ray's expression darkened as he removed the device minutes later. "You could just be ill from all the stress you've been through," he said as he studied the numbers. "I'll keep tending to you for now, but I'll have to call a doctor if your fever gets much higher than this."

Coley sank into the pillows. "I'll be fine," he said, watching Ray through bleary eyes.

Again Ray left the main room. He came back with a damp washcloth, which he placed on Coley's forehead. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen," he offered.

Coley gave a weak smirk. "I think you really mean that."

"I do," Ray asserted. "I know it's painful to talk, but . . . well, I found it really did help, when I talked to the doctors at the sanitarium about what happened to me."

Coley closed his eyes with a tired sigh. If he was fully aware he probably would not, but in his half-delirious state his tongue was far more loose than usual.

". . . Pinto tried to hang me," he said finally. "I was dreaming about that."

Ray rocked back. "There's a mark across your throat," he gasped. "I didn't notice it before because of your scarf. And it's from _that?_"

"Yeah." Coley was too tired to say much more. "Gordon was there. In the dream, I mean. He wouldn't help me."

Ray frowned. "What about in real life?"

"He would've helped."

"You're lucky to know someone who would."

"It's that unusual?"

". . . Sometimes it seems like it."

Coley gave a weak, wry smirk in response. He stared tiredly across the room for a moment before allowing his eyes to sink closed.

"I'll let you sleep now," Ray said. "I'll be nearby. Let me know if you need anything."

Coley thought he said something in reply, but he was so out of it that he might have been replying only in his mind.

The last thing he was aware of was a blur of silver leaping onto a corner at the foot of the bed.

xxxx

"I'm telling you, Jim, this food is delicious!"

Jim smiled, enjoying Arte's enthusiasm. Arte was definitely cheered after that experience with his frightful dream.

It had been a good morning so far, he had to admit. They had gotten more money for their coins than either of them had possibly imagined. The coin dealer had been amazed by their "rare collections," but had accepted their explanation of the coins being in their families for years. After they finished their meal at this cozy diner, they planned to find a good hotel, buy some more clothes, and continue searching for the others from their time along the way. Hopefully the productivity would persist throughout the rest of the day.

"It is good," Jim said. "And I imagine you'd like to know exactly what went into making it."

"I most certainly would," Arte said. "We could take back some incredible recipes."

They had spread out the day's newspaper between them, hoping to find some clue as to the others' whereabouts as well as to learn more about the modern-day era. Jim glanced at it again out of curiosity. This time a short blurb caught his eye. "Hey, Arte. Did you see this?"

Arte looked over. "Which?"

"This piece on a man named Ray Norman. It says he kicked some reporters out of his golf club again. Apparently he's a reclusive businessman who . . ." He trailed off.

Arte was still thoroughly enjoying his meal. "Who what?" he asked, only half-hearing at the moment.

"Who used to be dead," Jim breathed.

That got Arte's attention. "What?!" He leaned over the table.

Jim obligingly passed him the section with the article. "He was revived by a mad scientist named Alice Portman and tortured for two years before he was rescued. He was released from a sanitarium not that long ago. The reporters keep wanting updates on how he's doing and he won't comply."

"Employees of the fourth estate are always so impatient," Arte muttered. He read through the article. "And whoever wrote this doesn't have much honor. He's trying to make it some huge mystery that Mr. Norman doesn't want reporters around the club. The place seems to be his home as well as his business."

"It's the being revived from the dead that's got me interested," Jim said.

"Yes, same here," Arte frowned. "That certainly isn't common. I wonder if this Portman woman relied on anyone's notes in order to perform such a feat?"

"Such as Dr. Faustina's? That's got me curious too." Jim leaned back. "But I doubt Mr. Norman would want to talk with us any more than any of these reporters."

"Probably not, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to try." Arte turned the page to read the last bit of the story. "It says he runs the Oak Bridge Golf Club, wherever that is. And . . ." His eyes went wide. "Jim . . . did you see the picture?"

"No," Jim blinked. "Why?"

"He looks eerily familiar, don't you think?"

Jim took the paper back. ". . . He does," he realized.

"Like Mr. Jeffers' friend Carl Armory, only a few years older."

Jim looked up. "Arte, surely you don't think . . ."

"No, I don't," Arte quickly interrupted. "I would seriously doubt that Mr. Armory got sent here too, with a different identity and no sister. It's just an odd coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"About as much of one as Little Pinto and Coley Rodman looking so strikingly alike," Jim said. "It's just one of those things."

"Exactly," Arte nodded. "So, when we're done here, what do you say we find one of these wonderfully modern cabs and pay a visit to the Oak Bridge Golf Club?"

"I say we should give it a try," Jim said. "Who knows—maybe we'll find Mr. Norman will be more accommodating to the Secret Service than he is to overly curious reporters."

"I certainly hope so," Arte said. "Although coming to think about it . . . we really don't have any authority here, do we, James?"

Jim considered that. "Considering that this is 138 years after our time, and no human being outside of the Bible has lived that long . . . no, Arte, we really don't. That _could_ be a problem. But we'll deal with it when the time comes."

"Always with the perfect solution," Arte remarked.

Jim shrugged with a smile. "Well, if it works, why change?"

"That would be a good point, except for the fact that it _doesn't_ always work," Arte said. "I tried your methods while I was trying to find out what happened to you. And I walked myself and Rodman right into one of Pinto's traps."

Instead of continuing their banter, Jim sobered. "Arte, you didn't tell me that. What happened?"

Arte sighed. "We both came out of it alright, but I decided to leave your methods to you in the future. I'm no good at it."

"I've walked into some bad situations too," Jim said. "And I didn't always come out without so much as a scratch."

Arte smiled ironically. "To tell you the truth, neither did I. One of Pinto's darts brushed past me. But it didn't break enough skin to give me the full force of whatever was in it."

Jim frowned deeply. "You can't turn your back on someone like Little Pinto."

"Looking right at him doesn't help much, either," Arte said.

He folded up the newspaper. "I'm done. It looks like you are too, so shall we be off?"

Jim nodded. "We'll see what Ray Norman has to say, if anything."

"If he does agree to talk to us, be gentle, won't you, James?" Arte tapped the paper. "After two years of being steadily tortured by anyone, it's a miracle he's sane at all. It can't be easy to talk about his experiences."

"I fully agree with you, Arte," Jim said. "I'll be careful."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The Oak Bridge Golf Club was located near the base of the mountains at the edge of the city. Desert flora and palm trees dotted the landscape as the yellow cab drove up the road to their destination. Arte was taking in everything from the smoothness of the journey to the scenery around them, his expression one of perpetual awe. Jim sat back, absorbing everything about their experience and enjoying the trip.

The driver probably found Arte's amazement strange as it was. Luckily, however, Arte refrained from whatever enthusiastic commentary and questions he had. He knew that if he spoke any of them, it could immediately point out that something was not quite usual with him and Jim. And of course he did not want that.

Jim crossed his arms, pondering on what to say and how to say it when they arrived. Some things could, of course, not be properly gauged until they saw the entire situation. But others could and should be determined beforehand, such as how to capture Ray's attention if he just wanted to dismiss them without hearing them out.

Jim could scarcely comprehend having been tortured for two years. He had met many people who had been damaged and disturbed by various things, including the Civil War several years prior, but never anyone who had been held prisoner by an insane tormenter for so long. It was hard to even begin to know how to handle that. He and Arte would do their best, naturally, but it might not be good enough.

The cab ground to a halt in the large parking lot, near the front offices. "This is it," the driver announced. "Do you want me to wait for you?"

"Yes, please," said Arte, as he climbed out. "We'll let you know when it's no longer necessary."

Jim followed him up the walkway and towards the doors, memorizing the path as much as he could.

"So this is a golf club," Arte mused. "And it's not just for one-day use, either. That driver said people can stay here in rooms or cabins."

Jim nodded, pulling open the heavy door. "Judging from how full the lot is, it must take in a lot of business," he commented.

It was apparently very busy at the moment, as there was no one at the reception desk. Arte sighed. "And here I was hoping for a lovely lady to direct us to Mr. Norman's office," he bemoaned.

Jim grinned, clapping Arte on the shoulder. "We'll just have to find it ourselves, Arte."

The long hallway to the left seemed a good place to start. And indeed, as Jim and Arte wandered down the corridor, they eventually came to an open door with Ray's name. Inside the office, their mysterious man was engrossed in something he was looking at on a screen in front of him.

"I wonder what that invention is," Arte said quietly.

Jim had no idea. And at the moment, he did not particularly care. He gave a quick rap on the door. "Mr. Norman?"

Ray jumped a mile. "Yes?" But when he looked over and saw his visitors, all color drained from his face.

"There's nothing like almost making someone faint to make you realize your presence is both unexpected and important," Arte intoned.

Jim advanced into the room, holding out a hand to shake. "Mr. Norman, I'm sorry we barged in on you like this, but it's important. We're Secret Service agents. I'm . . ."

"James West," Ray said weakly. "And you're Artemus Gordon."

Now both guests stopped in their tracks. "Pardon me, but how on earth do you know us?!" Arte exclaimed.

Ray responded by turning his device to face them. On the screen were their pictures, side by side, well-preserved and important indeed. "I've been doing my research," Ray announced. "I . . . I was expecting to meet you sometime, but I didn't think you'd come directly here. And especially not today."

"Why not today?" Jim frowned. He walked closer to see the screen. Arte was already there, leaning on the desk with both hands as he stared at the device. _Famous Secret Service Agents of the 19__th__ Century_ was written above their pictures, with their names underneath in smaller type.

Ray drew a deep breath. "Maybe we should start over," he said awkwardly.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea." Again Jim held out his hand. Ray took it, delivering a firm shake. "Good afternoon, Mr. Norman."

"Good afternoon, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon," Ray returned.

Arte finally tore himself away from the screen and straightened up. "So, I see you're aware of where we're from," he said, nodding to the screen.

"I am," said Ray.

"It's a strange coincidence, that you're looking at our pictures right when we walk in," Jim commented.

"Yes. Well, there's a reason for that." Ray laced his fingers. "But first, since you're the visitors here, how about you tell me why you've come to me?"

"Fair enough." Jim leaned back. "Mr. Norman, we came because we read about you in the paper and we wondered if we should talk with you," he began.

"How do I put this delicately?" said Arte, still feeling awkward. "We thought that perhaps your . . . experience somehow connects with the last case we were working on before we were sent here."

"The Dr. Faustina case?" Ray said.

Jim and Arte exchanged a stunned look. "Why, yes," Arte said.

"You know about that?" Jim asked carefully.

"I know quite a lot about it. Gentlemen . . ." Ray looked from one to the other. "Are you looking for Coley Rodman?"

Arte stiffened. "Among other people, yes," he said. "Have you seen him, Sir? Do you know if he's alright?"

Ray sighed. "He's alive, but he's not alright," he frowned. "For two weeks he was tortured by someone named Little Pinto. Last night he came to me, wounded and burned, pleading for my help."

Arte rocked back, sickened. "Oh no."

Jim laid a hand on his shoulder. "How badly is he hurt?"

"Badly enough that I'm afraid some of his injuries are going to scar," Ray said. "And I don't just mean physically." He looked down. "Right now he's delirious, as he has been off and on since he came here. I just looked in on him a few minutes ago. He's asleep at the moment. And I don't think he's had much decent sleep since before he was captured."

Jim frowned. "He told you about us?"

"Well, yes and no. He mentioned you briefly when he was more aware of things, but the majority of what he said was when I'm sure he didn't know he was saying it." Ray ran a hand through his hair. "He knew he was bad off. He was afraid he might say something in a hospital that would make them think he was insane. So far he's refused to leave. Not that I want him to go, you understand," he added quickly. "Only if it would help him more than I could. At this point, however, I think it would only make things worse."

"You're probably right, if he's been talking about dates and times," Arte said. "Mr. Norman . . ." He hesitated, wanting to ask his next question but dreading the answer. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered. "Mr. Norman, is he going to live?"

Ray looked at him in surprise, picking up on the pain and regret in his tone. "I don't think he's been fatally wounded, Mr. Gordon," he said kindly. "I'd offer to let you see him, but I don't know if he would want that, in his condition. And he badly needs to rest."

Arte nodded, drawing a sigh of relief. "We can wait."

Jim nodded as well. "If you have a spare room or cabin, we might want to rent it for a while. We can pay."

"Of course." Ray crossed to the doorway. "There's keys for all the empty rooms at the front desk. I can try to find something for you that's near where I put Rodman, if you want."

"Yes, please," Arte said.

They followed him to the front lobby. "I have to say, this is quite a surprise," Arte declared. "We didn't expect that you would be receptive to us at all."

"Or that you would believe we were from the past," Jim added.

Ray glanced back at them. "If not for my guest, I'm sure I wouldn't, on either count." He pulled out a plastic card. "This will open the room across the hall and down two doors from Rodman. Here, I'll show you how it works."

With that he took them down the hall and to the door in question. He slid the card into the slot and turned the knob, pushing open the door.

"That's all it takes to unlock the door?" Arte said in amazement.

"Yes, but just like the keys you're familiar with, each card is unique. Only this one, and my master cardkey, will open this door." Ray handed the card to him.

"Well, that's good to know," Arte said as he pocketed it.

At that moment, a bone-chilling scream from across the hall had them all jumping a mile. Ray tore over without a word, unlocking another door and hurrying inside. "Rodman?!" he exclaimed.

Arte exchanged a sickened look with Jim. He slowly walked over, peering through the open door. Perhaps he should have just gone into their room without another thought, but the cry had pierced him. He could not just ignore it.

He gripped the doorframe as he stared at the scene before him now. Coley, wild-eyed and flushed, had rose half-off the bed, grabbing at Ray in desperation.

"He's trying to kill me!" Coley screamed. "He electrocuted me when I couldn't do anything to stop him. Keep him away from me! Keep him away!"

Ray held him firmly but gently, not wanting to further hurt his injuries. "He's not here," he said. "You're safe now. I promise you, you're safe." He trembled, a bit of haunted horror from the past seeping into his own eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered. "Never again."

That was all it took to clearly see how badly affected he still was by what Portman had done to him—and how tormented Coley was right at this moment. Arte turned away, a hand over his eyes.

"I can't watch any more of it, Jim," he said quietly, pained. "This is what's become of Coley Rodman, and it's all thanks to that madman Little Pinto."

"Maybe it's because of the delirium, Arte," Jim suggested. "Later on he might be the way we remember him." He tried to sound unaffected, but Arte knew better. Jim was troubled too.

Arte nodded. "That's what I want to believe. But even so . . . oh, Jim. . . ." He glanced over his shoulder once he had crossed the hall to their room. From this angle he could not see anything. But he could still hear Coley's quieting moans and cries.

Jim gently pulled the door shut. "He's calming down," he said. "This might be the best place he could have ended up, with someone who knows what it's like to be tortured."

"That makes sense," Arte said. "But . . . Jim, what if he never gets better?" He looked to his friend, agonized. "Apparently he and Pinto got here at least two weeks before we did. And fourteen days . . . I'm sure that would be more than enough time for Pinto to drive someone out of his mind."

Jim found he wasn't sure what to say. He hated to address that possibility when it distressed Arte so badly, but they had to face its potential existence. ". . . It wouldn't be your fault, Arte," he replied at last.

"I know that." Arte turned away, trudging into their room. "But it would eat at me anyway. I can't stand to think of Rodman like that. Especially not after what we've been through."

Jim followed Arte inside, watching as he sank onto one of the two beds. If he had thought Arte was overwhelmed before, it was far worse now. Whatever Arte had thought they had would find, it had not been this.

". . . Oh no," Arte mumbled. "Jim, I forgot about the cab."

"I'll take care of it," Jim promised.

He headed back out the door, silently delivering a prayer for the outlaw across the hall.

And for Arte, if Coley did not recover.

xxxx

Pinto wandered down the busy street, his hands in his pockets. He was alone; he and Lucrece had split up, as usual, making plans to regroup by a statue in an hour. That was how they had been handling these daily searches since their arrival in 2012. They covered more ground that way, and hence, it was more practical. Lucrece always believed in practicality.

So far the most that had happened was that they had gained a better education of what this time and these people were like. There had been no sign of Cyril, Sergei, or any of the rest. But if they had come to this time period, they had to be around somewhere. Lucrece was determined to find them.

Pinto was sure they were around, or that at least if they were not, they would be before long. But he still managed to jump a mile when he was suddenly called.

"Pinto!"

He spun about, searching for the speaker. He recognized the voice, and he relaxed when he saw Cyril beckoning to him from around the side of an old brick building. The firebug looked both nervous and relieved.

Pinto strolled over with a casual air. "Well," he greeted, "fancy meeting you here, Cyril. I was starting to wonder if you'd make it to the party."

"Yes, but why are we here?" Cyril exclaimed. "And where is Miss Posey?"

"She's looking for everyone, same as I am," Pinto said. "How long have you been here?"

"I came last night," Cyril told him. "I was in a park where West and Gordon settled in to rest. I stayed and watched. Today they left and I followed."

"Didn't they suspect?" Pinto raised an eyebrow.

Cyril threw up his hands in frustration. "I am not a good tail," he said. "When many people came down the street, I lost them. But I know they sold their old coins for crisp new money."

Pinto nodded, thoughtfully. "Lucrece came up with the same plan," he mused. "We have some bills stored away now.

"You haven't seen any of the others?"

Cyril shook his head. "What is this place?!" He looked around in tense amazement. "I don't understand. What kind of future is this?"

"It's a great place, Cyril. A great place!" Pinto clapped him on the shoulder. "You wouldn't believe some of the devices they have around here."

Cyril could read between the lines. He knew what would interest Pinto most about _devices._ "They are for torture?" he asked.

Pinto shot him a wicked grin. "Oh, very much. I've already tried some of them out."

Cyril's eyes went wide. "On someone here?!" He stiffened again. "Are the police . . ."

"No, no. Relax! I was using them on Rodman." Pinto smirked. "He's been a tough one to break, but it's been fun trying."

Cyril fumbled in his pocket for some matches. Striking a few would calm him down; it always did. "Is he dead?"

"I doubt it. He escaped and ran off. He's probably in some hospital by now."

Pinto watched as Cyril lit one match, then two more. Cyril stared at the little flames, completely entranced.

"Well, come on," Pinto said with impatience. "Let's get going. We still have all the others to find."

Cyril let the used matches drop to the concrete. "This is a big city," he said. "They could be anywhere!"

"All the more reason to get started." But Pinto could see that Cyril's attention was already elsewhere again. Frowning, he followed his ally's gaze. Across the street, a man in a bluish-gray suit was watching them.

Cyril struck a fourth match, particularly furiously this time. "It's Snakes!"

Pinto's expression darkened. "It figures he'd be here," he said. "Let's see what he's up to."

He had long ago figured out that the strange moving vehicles stopped whenever the lights above them went red. And what luck for them; it was happening right now. Keeping hold of his lasso, he crossed the street in determination, Cyril trailing after him.

Snakes realized instantly that they were coming after him. He bolted, fleeing down the street. Pinto increased his speed, letting his lasso fly as he ran. The loop caught hold of Snakes around his waist, binding his arms to his sides as Pinto pulled it taut. Snakes yelled in protest. The other people on the street, utterly baffled, stopped walking to look.

Pinto sneered as he moseyed over, keeping a firm grip on the rope. "Just like ropin' little dogies," he drawled. "Only they're a lot prettier.

"What are you up to, Snakes?"

Snakes glowered. "I was just looking," he said. "There's no law against that, even now."

"Looking, but why?" Cyril held up another lit match threateningly, as though about to drop it on him. Snakes went rigid.

"I just saw the two of you by accident," Snakes insisted. He stared at the flame, transfixed, albeit not for the same reasons Cyril always was. "Look, if you saw West and Gordon, you'd want to hang around to see what they were doing, wouldn't you?"

"I guess," Cyril said noncommittally. The match ran down and he let it drop to the ground at Snakes' feet. It passed dangerously close to the hem of his suit coat as it fell.

Pinto smirked, letting Cyril handle the interrogation while he held onto the lasso. His silence was one of the things that made people nervous about him. No one knew what he was thinking.

"Hey, this isn't some movie stunt, is it?" someone in the gathering crowd spoke up. "This looks like it's for real."

"I'm calling the police!" a woman exclaimed. She started digging through her purse.

Now it was Cyril who was growing tense. "Maybe we made a mistake, Pinto," he gulped. "If the police come, we'll be the ones in trouble."

Pinto glanced at the crowds, weighing the problem in his mind. At last he conceded, loosening the rope and taking it off of Snakes.

"You've got a lot of friends here, old pal," he said low as he leaned in. "Next time, don't expect anyone to come to your rescue."

"I'm not after you or Posey or any of the others," Snakes retorted. "I swear!"

"Show Miss Posey the proper respect," Cyril snapped.

Pinto nodded in agreement as he turned away, gathering the lasso in his hands. He could feel Snakes, as well as everyone else, watching him and Cyril as they walked away.

"What do you think, Pinto?" Cyril asked.

"Oh, I might believe that he's not plotting against us . . . yet," Pinto mused. "But if we're here long enough, I betcha he'll find some way to use us."

"Maybe he will stay away from us to stay alive," Cyril suggested. "He won't want to meet Miss Posey's poison again."

"No, he won't," Pinto agreed. "But I'll feel better keepin' an eye on him anyway."

"What about West and Gordon?"

"We'll try to find them again, without drawing attention to ourselves in the process." Pinto smirked. "After all, if they never figured out you were there, there's no sense spoilin' that."

"And Coley Rodman?"

"Wherever he is, people probably either think he's bonkers or have found him too jarred up to say much of anything at all." Pinto looked sickeningly satisfied. "No one'll be looking for me over that."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Cyril said slowly.

"Sure it does," Pinto said. "Now, come on. We have just enough time to get to the meeting place before Lucrece does. Maybe she'll have found someone else. We've been here two weeks, but you and West and Gordon just seemed to show up last night. And Snakes. I'd say it shouldn't be too hard to round up all the old gang now."

xxxx

Ray sighed sadly as he ran the cloth through the pan of water and wrung out the excess liquid. Gently, he bathed Coley's face and neck with the moisture before leaving the cloth on his forehead. The unconscious man seemed to sense it; his eyes fluttered as he turned his head to the side. He did not, however, make any motion to regain consciousness.

Ray had stayed with him almost constantly since his delirious outburst, which had been hours ago by now. Ray had managed to soothe him into sinking back into the bed, where he had finally dozed, and since then there had not been another incident.

He would get better, or at least, Ray hoped and prayed he would. Ray wanted to help him, as he himself had been helped. But, he mused, he also could not help but hope for the companionship, even friendship, that he had been seeking.

Apparently he was not choosey about who he sought it from, he frowned. He could get in trouble for taking a known criminal under his roof. But then again, the rule surely would not apply to Coley unless he committed a new crime in the present day. He wouldn't be wanted in 2012 for crimes committed in the 1870s.

Still, it was dangerous, wasn't it? Coley could turn against him, even try to involve him in a new crime. Or he could try to engage in one behind Ray's back.

That was what logic tried to tell him. And still, in spite of it all, he felt that what he had told Coley earlier was the truth. He was not in danger; Coley would not betray someone who had helped him. Coley had admitted that.

If he could be believed. And Ray did believe him, after hearing his semi-conscious ramblings. Coley could not control what he said at those times. He had revealed his true self.

The knock on the door brought Ray to attention. "Come in," he said in surprise.

The door opened slowly and Arte peered in. "How is he?" he asked quietly.

Ray leaned back. "Peaceful, for now," he said.

"I could watch him for a while, if you have other things to do," Arte suggested.

"Thank you, but no. I'll stay." But Ray watched Arte, curiously tilting his head to the side. "You seem very concerned for him."

"Yes, well . . ." Arte threw up his hands as he entered the room. "It might be more guilt than anything else. I feel like I dragged him into this and then couldn't even look after him well enough to keep him safe."

"From what he's been saying, he considers that he made his own choice," Ray said.

"That's all well and fine, but it doesn't do much to ease my own sense of responsibility," Arte returned.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Ray wondered. "Your sense of responsibility?"

Arte let out a frustrated breath. "No, frankly, Mr. Norman, I'm not."

A small smile of understanding tugged on Ray's features. "You find it strange and uncomfortable, to care about a battered, professional criminal. Oh, it's alright; I'm familiar with that attitude. I've gotten that from all my old _friends._ Once it came out that I'd been a blackmailer, they weren't sure what to make of me. Although I supposed being a formerly _dead_ blackmailer didn't help, either."

Arte managed a weak smirk. "No, I imagine it didn't."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You have to admit, it's not usual for a Secret Service agent to find himself caring about someone he thought was the scum of the earth."

"I'm sure it isn't," Ray said. "But caring doesn't mean you've abandoned your duties."

"That's what Jim said too," Arte remarked. "Of course, I don't want to turn against any of my legal responsibilities. I _won't._ But I'm discovering that I really don't like the idea of Rodman either being killed or ending up in prison for years, if not life. I actually wish that I could help him get immunity. Provided he wants to change his ways, naturally."

"Maybe he does. And maybe you can."

Arte looked up with a start as Jim appeared in the doorway. "How long were you there?" he asked.

"Long enough to hear about your conflicted feelings," Jim said. "And don't worry about it, Arte. It'll work out."

"I hope so," Arte sighed. "First and foremost, Rodman has to start getting better. And next, we have to figure out how to get home."

"There has to be a way," Jim said. "But meanwhile, Arte, there's no point in you staying here being gloomy. Why don't you come out for dinner? It's getting late."

"Yes, you should go," said Ray.

"What about you?" Arte queried.

"I'll eat something in here." Ray leaned back. "And Mrs. Featherstone will be checking on her cat before long." He indicated the silver Persian perched on the nightstand. "She's worried about Rodman, too. The cat is, I mean."

Arte reached over, patting Jane's head as she purred. "A beautiful animal," he said. "Unusual, but beautiful."

"As many women are," Jim grinned. "Come on, Arte."

Arte nodded and followed Jim to the doorway. "Oh . . ." He turned back. "Mr. Norman, you'll let us know if he regains consciousness, won't you?"

"Of course," Ray said. "Go on now."

The door closed quietly.

Ray studied Coley thoughtfully as they were left to themselves once more. "So, it looks like Jane and I aren't the only ones who want to see you get better," he mused. "I'm glad."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jim regarded Arte with both curiosity and seriousness as they walked down the hall towards the dining hall. "This thing about Rodman really has you in a bind," he remarked.

"Tell me about it," Arte sighed. "I know I mentioned some of it to you, Jim. And I hadn't intended to blab anything to Mr. Norman, but when we got talking and wandered into that topic, somehow it just all came out."

Jim nodded. "Arte, no one would blame you. You're not the first agent to work with a criminal and end up coming out of it feeling friendly towards him."

"I know that. But . . . I don't know, it just feels wrong—almost as though I'd be going against my badge to feel like that."

"Oh, I think you handled it pretty well, judging from what you said to Mr. Norman." Jim's tone was easy, unconcerned. "Face it, Arte; we're only human. Some people are going to make a big impression on us, and not necessarily a bad one, even if they're on the wrong side of the law."

Arte slowly nodded. "And that's exactly what's happened, Jim. It just feels so surreal, especially when it's Coley Rodman we're talking about. Oh, how I thoroughly despised that man."

"I remember," said Jim.

"The ferret thing really shook me up, of course, but what got to me the most was thinking that he was ready to snuff out hundreds and thousands of people just so he could loot the towns." Arte gazed ahead blankly. "And instead he told me he wouldn't do that, no matter what the cost. I know now that he was telling the truth. I'd hated him for something he didn't and wouldn't do.

"I never wanted him dead, really; I don't particularly want anyone dead. But I loathed him nevertheless. And now he's become a comrade. A _comrade,_ Jim!" He gestured wildly. "I never would have dreamed up something like this in a million years. He's lying in that room, quite possibly dying, and I'm tied up in knots over it! Before, even though I didn't want him dead, I wouldn't have been agonizing over it like this." He shook his head in helplessness. "I just don't know what to make of it."

"It still feels strange to me, too, Arte," Jim remarked, "so I'm not fully sure what to tell you. I'm hoping Rodman gets better too. I want to have a talk with him, see if I can find in him what you've found.

"But on another subject, do you have any ideas on how we're going to get home?"

Arte sighed. "Not too many," he said. "We could go back to Justice and find Dr. Faustina's old hideout. There could be some kind of portal there. On the other hand, since we all appeared in Los Angeles, there must be some connection with it, too. The portal, if one exists, might be somewhere in this area."

"I've been thinking about that," Jim said. "Isn't it odd that we didn't arrive in modern-day Justice instead of here?"

They reached the dining hall and Arte stepped through the open doorway. "It's strange, alright," he said, "but since we know absolutely nothing about the mechanics of time travel, who knows. Maybe it's actually fairly common to land somewhere else."

"If time travel is common," Jim intoned.

"There's that," Arte nodded. "Oh, it's too bad we don't have Colonel Vautrain to ask."

"I wonder what happened to him," Jim mused. He found a vacant table and sat down, picking up the menu.

"We never did know for sure that he was dead, did we," Arte frowned.

"No, we didn't. But unless he survived to write a book on time travel, he wouldn't be able to help much here." Jim looked through the available dishes.

Arte shrugged. "We could search through library records, just for the heck of it. Maybe if he didn't write a book, someone else did."

"Couldn't hurt to check."

The waiter came over and they ordered. When he was gone again, Arte glanced around the room. "You know, it puzzles me why no one has really said anything about the way we're dressed," he said. "They have such different fashions these days, yet hardly anyone has so much as batted an eye at us. Well, correction—we've gotten a few odd looks. But that's it! I expected far more of an uproar."

"We should have asked Mr. Norman about that," Jim mused.

"We'll do that right after dinner," Arte said firmly.

"Another thing we'll have to do right after dinner is ask him more about his own case," Jim remarked. "We never did get around to that."

"That's right," Arte remembered, chagrined.

His expression became entranced as a blonde waitress with upswept hair wandered past, heading for another table. "One thing hasn't changed," he said dreamily.

Jim gave a knowing nod. "The women are still just as fetching."

"Oh yes," Arte declared. "If we do end up stuck here, it might not be so bad."

xxxx

Pinto looked up from a card game with Cyril as Lucrece entered the house they were renting as a hideout. She looked irritated, to say the least.

After they had regrouped at the statue, they had traveled to the house and Lucrece had gone out again, instructing them to stay put. Now, as she returned, it was nearing night.

"No luck?" Pinto greeted.

"We'll find the others soon enough," Lucrece said. "Meanwhile, I've learned something else about this modern world."

"What is that?" Cyril blinked.

Lucrece placed a newspaper on the table. "Read this."

Pinto took it. _"Police Close in on International Crime Cartel,"_ he read.

Lucrece gave a sharp nod. "They said it couldn't be done. But in this day and age, consolidated crime flourishes." Her eyes flashed. "There's no mention of us having any part in starting it."

Cyril struck a match. "Someone else must have gotten the idea too."

"It should have been us," Lucrece said bitterly. "It was my idea before it was anyone else's."

Pinto set the paper back on the table. "It's a little late to do anything about it now."

"Perhaps," Lucrece said. "As long as we're here, we can't do anything about the past. But we _can_ do something about the future."

Cyril stared at her in surprise and eagerness. "You mean, start the organization here, Miss Posey?"

"Exactly." Lucrece grabbed the paper. "Here, it has a chance of succeeding. We will research its history and learn how the syndicates here operate without the in-fighting that has plagued us. Then we will follow their pattern."

Pinto nodded slowly. It just might work.

"What about the others?" Cyril wondered.

"We will keep looking for them, of course," Lucrece said. "We can't do anything official until we have a board meeting. And we can't have that until all the board members are present."

She turned with a swirl of her cape. "Don't stay up too late."

"We'll go to bed right after the news on the strange picture box," Cyril said.

"It's called a television set," Lucrece said over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs.

"Television set. Yes," Cyril nodded.

Pinto leaned back, smirking a bit. This was such a different world than the one they had known, but Lucrece had immediately thrown herself into familiarizing herself with it. After they had gained present-day currency, she had immediately determined that some of it should be used for a proper residence. No matter how long they stayed, she did not want to live in a warehouse.

She had been the one who had gone to speak to the real estate agent about selecting this pre-furnished house to rent. She had handled herself with such expertise and poise that he had never suspected she wasn't from this time.

She had chosen something that was large enough for the entire gang, but practical. Other than her own room, the other bedrooms were for two people each. They could not afford something so big that each gang member could have a room all to himself. Besides, she had told Pinto, they needed to learn how to get along better than they sometimes did. She would not tolerate any more antics such as what had happened in Justice, with Brutus and Sergei being tricked by Arte into killing Gallito and Cyril.

Pinto quite agreed. Oh, he had to admit, he enjoyed a little roughhousing now and then, but all in good fun. He did not want to see the board members kill each other off. Lucrece had worked too hard to set up this organization. And Pinto was bent on helping her succeed.

Pinto glanced at the television on the other side of the room. He had given Cyril a tour of the house after bringing him to it earlier that day. The "picture box" had particularly amazed him. And Pinto imagined that once they found Sergei, he was going to be hooked on the number of food programs that came on.

"Pinto . . ."

He looked back as Cyril spoke.

"You and Miss Posey have been here longer. Already you seem to fit in so well."

"You will too, before long," Pinto said easily. "And here's something you'll like. This area has a lot of wildfires up in the mountains. You can go watch them."

Cyril's eyes went wide. "Wildfires?"

"Big, _big_ fires, stretching way over your head. Over the tops of the trees!"

Cyril gazed at him in utter awe. "You have seen this?"

"On the news," Pinto replied. "It can take days to stop the biggest ones."

Cyril thought about that and leaned back in satisfaction. "I will like it here."

Pinto smirked. "That's the spirit."

Cyril toyed with the cards in his hands, shuffling and then collating, before finally setting one down to play. "Are you and Miss Posey . . . still together?" he asked haltingly.

Pinto turned back to their game as well and also put a card into play. "As much as we ever were," he said.

Cyril nodded slowly. He did not want to pry, and he wouldn't, but the other questions were still in his eyes. Pinto supposed he was wondering about Brutus. There were times when it seemed that Brutus had an interest in Lucrece too. And Lucrece in return seemed to pay a good deal of attention to Brutus. She was quite fond of that powerful glove of his. And with Pinto being a quiet sort, it was Brutus who usually took on the spokesman duties.

But it was Pinto who was her right-hand man, Pinto who had been with her the longest, Pinto who had stayed with her and oversaw all of the operations while the other regional leaders were scattered abroad.

Pinto did not like it if Lucrece was engaging in a relationship with Brutus as she was with Pinto. But he knew she would not really care about Brutus any more than she did about him. That was his one consolation—she did not love him, but she did not love anyone else, either.

"Pinto?"

He started back to the present. "What is it?"

"You have won."

Pinto glanced at the cards spread on the table. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, it looks like I have."

"Are you alright?" Cyril asked in concern.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Pinto frowned. He gathered the cards into a pile and began collating them into something resembling a deck.

"You don't seem . . . all here," Cyril said, struggling for the right words. "You are distracted."

"I think a lot. You know that."

"But you don't forget what is happening around you."

Pinto got up from the table. "It's nothing. Anyway, nothing can be done for it."

Cyril stood as well. "Is it Miss Posey?"

Pinto shot him a sidelong glance. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"Because you fell silent when I asked."

Instead of answering, Pinto crossed to the television set. "Well, what do you know," he said. "You can pick up on things when you want to. Now it's time for the news."

xxxx

Ray was trying to concentrate on a book, and for the most part failing miserably, when the knock came at the door. "Come in," he called in surprise.

The door opened and Arte and Jim entered the room. "Has there been any change?" Arte queried hopefully, almost pleadingly. He wanted some good news.

"He's been resting peacefully for some time now," Ray said. He closed the volume and set it aside. Jane leaned over, sniffing it, and then lost interest.

Arte nodded in approval. "That's good." He looked to Coley's unconscious form before speaking again. ". . . Jim and I were wondering something. No one seems that surprised to see us walking around in our stylish 1870s apparel."

Jim raised an eyebrow at Arte broaching that topic first. But then again, it made sense. He was stalling, not wanting to ask Ray about Dr. Portman and the torture.

"Oh." Ray glanced up at him. "Well, I guess it could be for several reasons. Maybe they think you're actors, still in your costumes. This is . . . well, I suppose you could say it's one of the acting capitals of the United States."

Arte snapped his fingers. "I should have thought of that!" he declared. "I was reading about motion pictures and Hollywood just last night. You know, I came up with that idea in our time. Jim said it would never happen."

"I never thought it would," Jim shrugged.

Ray managed a smile at Arte's enthusiasm. "There's also conventions where people gather dressed up like people from bygone eras," he said. "There's probably at least one of them going on right now. They happen, big and small, all year round."

"I see," Arte nodded. "That's very interesting."

"And there's a sub-culture where people often like to dress that way all or most of the time," Ray concluded.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Ray nodded. "It's an interesting time to be living."

"That's an understatement," Jim said.

"Fascinating, truly fascinating," Arte smiled. "Thank you for telling us of this." He sobered. "Mr. Norman, I'm truly sorry to bring this up, but . . . we never did get around to discussing that other matter we came to see you about. . . ."

Ray sighed. "I was half-hoping you'd forgotten."

"Sorry, Mr. Norman, but we have to talk about it." Jim's tone bespoke his regret. "We'll try to be as considerate and brief as possible."

Ray nodded in resignation. "Well, if it has to be."

"It does. Mr. Norman, do you remember if Dr. Portman mentioned anything at any time about Dr. Faustina?"

Ray shook his head emphatically. "No, she did not."

"You're sure of that," Arte said.

"Yes. She was always prattling on and bragging about her own achievements. She never said anything about this other lunatic, Faustina. I never heard the name at all until Rodman said it. As far as I know, whatever that witch did to me, she thought of all by herself."

"Alright. Thank you, Mr. Norman." Arte nodded in acknowledgment, willing to drop the subject.

He looked to Coley again. The other man was so pale and weak, so unlike the sarcastic, serious, slightly mischievous outlaw Arte had worked with on the investigation into the explosion. He looked like only a shadow of himself.

"And Pinto did this," he said bitterly. "Did Rodman have any idea why?"

Ray nodded. "He said Pinto basically just wanted to see what made him tick. They look a lot alike, it seems, but they're different in personality. That fascinated Pinto." His voice darkened. "Sadists like that are always fascinated by things they shouldn't be."

"Agreed," said Arte.

"I have to say, I'm curious," Ray said. "Do they really look that much alike?"

"The only real physical difference between them is that Pinto has sideburns," Jim said.

"That's uncanny," Ray said, shaking his head. "It's almost like how I apparently resemble a friend of my lawyer's."

"Your lawyer's?" Arte blinked.

"Yes, the one who took on my case." Ray gazed sadly at Coley. "Captain McVey, the Air Force man who rescued me, knows a famous lawyer in town, Perry Mason. He thought I should have the best possible representation on those blackmail charges, especially in light of what Portman did to me. He asked Mr. Mason if he would take my case. And Mr. Mason agreed, mainly because of the details involved in my situation. He felt I'd paid for my crimes far more than enough.

"Well, anyway, so Mr. Mason has a friend in the police department called Lieutenant Anderson. I haven't met him; he's in Homicide. But I'm told that I look just him if he were ten years older."

"How odd," Arte remarked.

"Odd indeed," Jim agreed.

For a moment they stayed where they were, thinking on the case and what had been happening to them. Finally Arte sighed. "Well . . . we'd better let you alone for now. Thank you for talking with us, Mr. Norman. And . . ." He cast a last glance at Coley. "If . . . no, _when_ he wakes up, and is feeling up to it, I'd like to talk with him."

"Of course," Ray nodded. "I'll tell him." His voice lowered. "Whenever that will be."

xxxx

Consciousness was like a blanket slowly being pulled away from over his senses.

He hated the feeling of waking up lying in bed, knowing he had been ill. He could not recall ever being so drained of energy. The only times that came close were the times someone had nearly scrambled his brains with concussions—first, accidentally by his old right-hand man Lafe, and second, deliberately by a group of assassins hired by Pinto to kill Arte. And even the sickness and exhaustion he had experienced those times could not really compare.

He still didn't feel so great, but as he gazed at the ceiling so seemingly high above him, his mind felt clearer than it had in days. It was a strange sensation, almost as though he had forgotten what it was to think straight instead of through a fog, and now he was rediscovering it. That was an amazing weight lifted from his soul.

"Rodman?"

He turned. Ray Norman was sitting on a chair next to the bed, regarding him in hopeful concern. Jane was on his lap. He stroked the cat's fur absently as he spoke.

"How are you feeling?"

Coley shrugged. "Terrible," he said flatly. "And I was acting out again, wasn't I?"

"You were delirious and panic-stricken," Ray said. "But your fever's come down." He nodded to himself in satisfaction. "I think you're past the worst of it."

"Well, hallelujah." Coley passed a hand over his eyes.

Jane leaped onto the bed, purring as she nuzzled him. He took his hand away, regarding her in disbelief. "What is it with this cat?"

Ray shook his head. "I gave up trying to figure her out long ago."

"And I always thought animals were good judges of character." Coley gave her a couple of half-hearted scratches. She purred more, closing her eyes in bliss.

"That's what I've heard," Ray said.

"This one obviously didn't get the message."

"Maybe she did."

Coley glanced up at Ray, questions in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

Ray looked embarrassed. "Well, you . . . kept on talking," he admitted. "I feel like I know you very well by now."

"So my secrets are out," Coley said dryly. "And you think I'm what?"

"Not nearly as bad as you could be," Ray replied. "I learned a little about you from some new guests, too."

Coley stiffened. "What new guests?"

"West and Gordon," Ray told him. "They showed up here this morning. They wanted to talk with me after reading about me in the paper. When they learned you were here, they took a room." He hesitated. "Mr. Gordon wants to talk to you. He told me to let him know if or when you felt up to it."

"Were they in here?" Coley demanded.

"Earlier they were." Ray studied him. "What should I tell Mr. Gordon?"

Coley sighed. "He could come now, I guess. He's already seen me in this rotten state."

Ray nodded and stood. "I'll get him," he promised.

Coley lay back as he waited. He did not like to think of anyone seeing him so weakened and vulnerable. But Ray had been seeing him for the last . . . who knew how long it had been. And West and Gordon. . . . When had they been there? He did not remember that at all. What kind of nonsense had he been shooting off at the mouth at that time?

The door opened farther and Arte stepped into the room, looking as though he was not quite sure what to say or do. He surveyed Coley for a moment, finally meeting the outlaw's inquiring gaze. Letting out a deep, relieved breath, Arte went over and sank into the chair.

". . . I don't know what to say," he confessed. "Rodman, I . . . I've been worried about you."

"Well, that's a line I don't hear much," Coley grunted.

"At first, when you disappeared back in the lab, I thought you were dead." Arte shook his head. "Then we all disappeared the same way and ended up here. I started thinking and hoping you were still alive. But I don't think I really considered the possibility that Pinto had got hold of you."

"Who would?" Coley returned. He wearily let his hand fall to the bed. "I must look like I've been through the wringer. I don't like to be seen like this."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," Arte quipped. He sobered. "Rodman, I'm honestly sorry this happened to you."

"You're not going to say I deserved it?"

"There was a time I would have," Arte said. "Just a few days ago I would have said it. But I would have felt sorry anyway. I don't like to think of anyone suffering as you've been, deserved or not.

"After the last few days, though, I can't even say that you deserved it. Who am I to decide that?" Arte looked Coley firmly in the eyes, relieved that they were clear and alert. "I finally had to acknowledge the truth—you still have good in you.

"When Mr. Norman told Jim and I what had happened to you, I was afraid you might not even recover from it. You sounded half-mad when we heard you down the hall. I'm glad you feel better enough to talk now. I have the confidence that you will get better."

"I'd never let Pinto win out over me," Coley vowed.

"Good," said Arte. "You know, I think there were quite a few prayers going up for you."

Coley raised an eyebrow. "You think God would care what happens to me?"

Arte shrugged. "I can only say that I've felt awfully compassionate towards your situation. And if God has more compassion and love than any human being, well, then He must care too."

"Heh. Interesting logic," Coley grunted.

"It makes sense to me," Arte said.

Coley fell silent. "So . . . I suppose you're taking me back into custody," he said at last. "Since I was supposed to be your prisoner."

Arte sighed. "I suppose technically, yes," he replied. "Only Jim and I don't have any authority in this time period. I guess that would make you a free man here."

Coley leaned back, gazing at the ceiling as he tried to process that information. "It's been a long time since I've been free," he said.

"At this point, I don't even know if we can get home," Arte told him. "If we can, I still have that report to make." He hesitated. "Complete immunity might be a possibility after all. It was a matter of national security, and you risked your life more than once."

Coley nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I wonder if they'd let me be free there," he mused.

"'They'?" Arte blinked.

"My old gang. Other gangs. I know some outlaws who tried to go straight, but the people they knew kept trying to drag them back in."

"That happens," Arte admitted. "But it doesn't always. There's some criminals who really have managed to turn their lives completely around. I'd do everything possible to help you get settled in a new life."

"I think you would." Coley studied him, then looked away. "It's a little early to start planning that far into the future. We should figure out if we can even get home first."

"We're already looking into it," Arte said. "Well . . ." He stood. "I'll let you rest."

"Oh, Gordon . . ." Coley reached to grab Arte's sleeve. "If you see Norman, tell him that I'd like something to eat."

Arte smiled. "It will be my pleasure to tell him. And I'm sure he'll be just as pleased to hear it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Ray sat by the bed, watching as Coley ate. He was ravenous, but trying to control himself enough so as not to absolutely inhale the food. He knew that he was weak and needed to start off slow.

". . . I heard a little of what you and Mr. Gordon were talking about," Ray said at last.

Coley glanced up. "How?" He frowned, clearly wondering if Ray had been eavesdropping.

"I was just walking past the door," Ray tried to assure him. "He didn't shut it all the way."

". . . That's right," Coley muttered, frowning more. "Who knows who else might've heard something."

"I don't think anyone else came out," Ray said.

Coley shrugged. "Since you brought it up, you must want to talk about what you heard."

"Well . . ." Ray laced his fingers and shifted, looking awkward. "Mainly I just heard Mr. Gordon talking to you about starting a new life back in your time. I suppose you're anxious to get back there."

"Not necessarily." Coley looked down at the food. "I don't even know if Gordon can swing anything with that report."

"But if he can," Ray persisted.

"Then I'd be more willing to think about going back. Other gangs might not let me live in peace, but I've never backed down from a challenge I thought I could handle." Coley peered at him. "Are you hoping to get rid of me?"

Ray straightened. "Oh no! Not at all." Unsure how to quite say what he really wanted, he finally drew a shaking breath and went a bit red. "I'd be happy to have you stay here. If you wanted to, I mean." Gaining confidence, he rushed on. "If you didn't want to go back, this is probably the best place for you in this time. I know who you are. I'd help you all I could to get situated."

Coley looked at him, his expression impassive. "I've never liked golf," he said. "I can't figure how batting a ball across the grass is a constructive way to pass the time. And the clothes are just ridiculous."

"Well . . ." Ray shrugged. "Liking golf isn't a prerequisite for staying here."

Coley tilted his head, regarding Ray in a bit of confusion. "Why do you want me to stay so much?"

Definitely embarrassed, Ray stood and crossed the room. "It's not that," he said. "It's just an alternative to going back." He turned to fully face his guest. "After all, here you don't need a report. You have a clean slate. You're already free."

Coley finally nodded. "That makes it tempting," he said.

Ray sat back down. "Of course, I don't know if it's even possible," he sighed. "There's all kinds of nonsense in time travel stories about how being out of your own time wreaks havoc with the space-time continuum."

Coley gave him a blank look. "The what?"

"Oh. Sorry. It's a complicated mathematical concept. Basically, people out of their time are supposed to ruin the natural flow of the universe and cause space and time to collapse on itself or other preposterous things."

"Just one person being displaced can do all that," Coley frowned.

"Supposedly," Ray hurried to add. "There's no proof, of course. There's never been a documented case of time travel. It's just something scientists and novelists have been playing with in their spare time."

"You don't believe it, I take it," Coley said.

"How can I, when there's no proof of it?" Ray returned. "It's just science-fiction as far as I'm concerned. The worst I would think it might do would be to alter the individual person's family tree and the line-up of people he or she would meet in their lifetime."

Coley's eyes flickered. "You mean their descendants?"

"Yes, partially. I mean, if they were supposed to marry someone in the past and then didn't because they ended up in the future, then that marriage wouldn't happen and that family wouldn't happen and they wouldn't meet all the people they were supposed to meet and . . . oh, it would just be a big mess!" Ray threw his hands in the air.

"Of course, that would depend on if the time traveler believed his fate was all mapped out for him," Coley said. "Maybe he'd think he was the only one to figure out when and where he was going to live and who he was going to marry."

"True," Ray acknowledged. "Or you could even think, what if coming to the future _was_ what was supposed to happen? What if that was where you were supposed to live for some reason instead of in the past?"

"Maybe." Coley was noncommittal in his response. He was not sure what to make of any of this. It was a lot to take in all at once. He had never even had to consider before that time travel was real, but he and the others were the living proof of it.

As far as fate was concerned, well, it was true that some things seemed almost destined to happen, since they happened no matter what was done to fight them. But Coley was unwilling to give up and concede that he had little to no control over his life. He felt that he had made up his own mind every step of the way, without any help from fate or destiny or whatever you wanted to call it.

Ray hesitated. ". . . Do you have any family . . . back there?"

Coley was silent a moment. "My mother," he said at last. "But I haven't seen her for a long time. I couldn't go home when I was on the run; it would've been the first place they would've looked. Being in another time doesn't make me feel any farther away from her than I did before. She's dead in this time, but I guess she must still be alive back there in the old time, still worrying." He paused. "Which is kind of weird to think about."

Ray managed a weak smirk. "Time travel is mind-boggling. And there's so many aspects like that, that make my brain hurt just thinking about them. I guess that's why I've always scoffed at the whole thing; it seems too bizarre to be real."

"You're telling me."

Ray grew serious. ". . . Well, anyway, about your mother. She doesn't even know that you're alright? Since you started running, I mean."

"I tried to send her a letter now and then, but I don't know if she ever got them," Coley answered. "I couldn't put any address for me on them."

"Of course." Ray frowned.

"What about you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have any family," Coley elaborated.

"Oh. Yes, I do. They're still back East, where I'm originally from." Ray sighed. "My mother was horrified at what I became. Of course, she and my father didn't even find out until after I . . . after the mad scientist got me."

Coley nodded, silently noting Ray's altering of his explanation. "Mine was always begging me to quit. It was really more that she was afraid I'd get myself shot than anything else, though."

Ray blinked. "She wouldn't have minded you being an outlaw aside from that?"

"That wasn't exactly what I meant. No, she didn't like it at all. I just mean, she was more worried about me being safe than she was about the crime angle." Coley quirked an eyebrow. "But since I was supposed to have said so many things while I was delirious, I'm surprised I didn't talk about that, too."

". . . You did, but not much," Ray admitted. "I couldn't fully make sense of it."

"Maybe I'd just as soon not know," Coley frowned.

"It was mainly just you calling for your father," Ray told him.

"Oh." Coley averted his gaze and didn't offer anything further on the subject. Not wanting to pry, Ray let it go.

"Anyway," Coley said presently, "my family wouldn't really figure into whether I stay here or go back."

Ray snapped to attention. "But if Mr. Gordon could see that you were granted immunity, you'd be able to see your mother then, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," Coley said. "Like I told Gordon, though, it's early to be planning the future. We don't even know if we can go back at all." He looked up. "And as long as we're here, I suppose I don't mind staying at your place. You're right; it makes sense."

Ray perked up, smiling. "I'm happy to have you, for however long you want to stay. Oh, Mrs. Featherstone was saying she wanted to meet you too. It's unusual for Jane to take such an interest in any one particular person, so she's curious to find out what you're like."

Coley grunted. "I'll probably scare her off. These clubs are for high-society, aren't they?"

"A lot of the time, yes," Ray agreed slowly. "But Mrs. Featherstone isn't one of those snooty society types."

"We'll see then." Coley set aside the tray. "And while I'm here, I should get familiar with the technology and the culture. I don't want to say or do something stupid that would tip anyone off that I'm not from here."

"That's a good idea," Ray said. "Mr. West and Mr. Gordon are already studying some of the books and other materials that explain things. If you feel up to it, I could bring my laptop computer in and show you how that works. Most people use computers in this day and age; they're the highest form of data storage, information, and technology."

Coley was giving him a blank look, but he slowly nodded. "Fine. It sounds like it's just what I want." He paused. "And thanks for the meal."

"It's no trouble at all," Ray said. "I'm just glad you feel well enough to eat." He picked up the tray. "I'll take this out and bring my laptop."

"Go ahead." Coley watched as Ray left the room. He leaned back into the pillows, studying the place.

The room itself, with its fancy furnishings, was a clear indication of the kind of high-falutin' place he had ended up in. But Ray, although likely well-versed in that lifestyle, was not stuffy or annoyingly arrogant at all. If anything, he had been bending over backwards to be kind and accepting.

Coley was unaccustomed to trusting people. It was possible that Ray had some ulterior motive for all of this. And yet Coley really did not think so. He felt that Ray was as sincere as he presented himself as being, a man truly changed and humbled by the torture he had suffered.

Although he had not been entirely upfront with Coley as to why he was interested in Coley staying on at the club. Coley could tell he was hiding something, maybe about himself as well as his motivations. He would watch for any indication of the answers.

Meanwhile, he hoped it would not be difficult to learn how to use this device called a laptop.

xxxx

Lucrece stood in the upstairs hall at the window, brushing through her thick hair. She was staring at the modern city sprawled before her, but her thoughts were far removed from the buildings and the lights.

She had not had much chance to think on it since it had happened, but it was so surreal and strange that two of her board members were downstairs, alive and well.

She had only reunited with them and the others moments before Dr. Faustina's machines had malfunctioned and sent them all into the present day. She and Pinto had found each other before long, and then Pinto had captured Coley Rodman, intending to amuse himself by torturing his look-alike if they could not quickly locate the rest. And since they had continued to search without success, Pinto had managed to experiment with Rodman and modern inventions for more than a fortnight.

He had made time to be with her, of course. He was a fool, to be in love with her, but he could not seem to help himself. She had long ago told him of the risks and downfalls involved, but it had not made a difference to him. Even though he knew she could someday tire of the entertainment of the relationship, he pursued it anyway.

"Lucrece?"

She jumped a mile and spun around. He was standing nearby in the hall, waiting for her to tell him it was alright to come closer.

She tried to compose herself. "I thought you were watching the news with Cyril."

He shrugged. "He got bored when the sports came on and ended up finding the Weather Channel."

She shut her eyes in exasperation. "And there's a large fire in the canyons, isn't there."

"They're showing the whole thing."

"Then he'll be occupied for the rest of the night. You might as well stay. But not for long; I need to sleep."

He stepped closer to the window and stopped by a dresser that the previous tenants had left standing there in the corridor. None of the other rooms needed a dresser, so in exasperation Lucrece had decided it could stay where it was. He leaned on it with one elbow as she raised her brush.

She frowned. For some reason, him being there was giving her an uncomfortable feeling. She had not thought of it in ages, forced herself not to think of it, but something had happened the night he had died in Justice.

She remembered looking out the window in her quarters, towards the icehouse where he had gone to fight West and Gordon. When they had been the ones to emerge, she had known Pinto was dead.

She had prepared to leave immediately afterwards. His death had not affected her as anything other than losing a good man as her second-in-command, and yet she had not been able to explain the prick in her heart when she realized he was gone.

Nor could she explain what had happened as she had stood by her dresser in their hideout. The sensation had been stronger, more powerful, and for a moment she had felt that he was there with her. She had felt a deep sadness and regret that she had never understood. Was it his . . . or hers?

She had refused to believe it could be hers. But she had been so shaken that she had taken a different path out of the room, one that did not lead past the dresser. Now Pinto was standing by this one and dredging up all of those ignored memories.

"Why are you standing there?" she demanded at last, sharper than she had really meant to sound.

Pinto rocked back. "It was the closest piece of furniture," he blinked. "Where do you want me to stand?"

She shut her eyes and shook her head as she turned away. "Nevermind."

But Pinto was concerned and confused. And perhaps he remembered the same thing she did, if she had not imagined it all.

He pushed away from the dresser. "The last time I was by a chest of drawers like this, I didn't think you knew it."

She set her jaw, brushing her hair more furiously. "In Justice?"

"That's right." He approached her slowly, stopping near where she was. "After you were looking out the window."

"After I realized you were dead." Her tone was clipped and dark.

"That was the last thing I wanted."

"Of course it was. Very few people actually want to die."

"Lucrece, what's wrong?"

She refused to face him. When a section of hair became entangled in the brush, she pulled and tugged in desperation and anger to set it free.

"Lucrece . . ." He reached for her, trying to touch her shoulder.

She snapped. "Don't," she snarled. She swatted at him with a hand as she stepped away.

He frowned. "I think I've got a right to know what I did wrong." He stayed where he was, folding his arms over his chest. "You're not acting like yourself, Lucrece."

She gripped the brush. "The only answer I can give you is that you died."

"That wasn't my fault. West and Gordon broke away. I had to go after them."

"It _was_ your fault." She slammed the brush on the windowsill. "You should have been more careful. You should have watched what you were doing more closely."

Pinto was silent a moment. "Why didn't you tell me before that you felt this way?"

She walked away from him, darkly and bitterly smirking to herself. "I've told you before. I've screamed it at you. But you were never there to hear it."

"I wanted to be. I couldn't leave Justice. Something was holding me there."

She turned to face him, searching his eyes, trying to make sense of her feelings and her outburst. She had never meant to say it to his face. Yes, somewhere in her heart she had blamed him, had been furious that he had died.

That he had left her.

But of course he had never meant to or wanted to. Why was she being so aggravatingly irrational? He was right; she was not herself.

Again she looked away. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." She rubbed uncomfortably at her upper arm.

He embraced her from behind. "I'm sorry I wasn't around."

This time she leaned into him, closing her eyes. She could feel his heart beating. It wasn't really important _how_ Dr. Faustina had done it; it was only important that she _had_ done it. Pinto was alive again.

"I know you are," she said quietly.

"I won't stand by the chest of drawers if you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to." She turned, still leaning into him. "You're alive. I don't want to think about your death anymore." She drew her arms around him, as though she feared letting go, and rested her cheek against his chest.

". . . Sometimes it almost feels like you could love me," he remarked.

"But you know better, don't you?"

He fell silent again. "Yeah," he said then. "I know better."

He did not want to risk upsetting her when she was finally calm again. But as he held her close, he could not help wondering why she had become so viciously upset in the first place.

xxxx

Arte leaned back on his bed, shaking his head as he gripped the book in his hands. "Incredible," he breathed. "Just incredible!"

Jim glanced up from the tome he was looking through. "What's fascinating you now, Arte?" he asked.

"This modern medicine!" Arte slapped the cover lightly with the back of his hand and held the book out to Jim. "You wouldn't believe some of the diseases that are now under control and some of the cures for common ailments!"

Jim leaned over, glanced at the page. "Penicillin," he mused. "I remember Dr. Loveless talking about that."

"Really?" Arte studied the page more closely. "I don't see any mention of him here."

"Someone else must've discovered it later and got the credit for it," Jim said. "You know Loveless—he was never willing to share his worthwhile discoveries with the government."

"Oh yeah." Arte sighed. "Just his bombs and other destructive devices."

Jim looked back at his book. "When it's morning, we should start looking for a portal," he said. "And Miss Posey's gang."

Arte winced. "Who knows what sort of Cain they've been raising. Other than torturing Rodman, that is."

Jim picked up on the bitterness in Arte's voice. "Speaking of Rodman, you were talking with him for a long time," he observed. "He must be feeling a great deal better."

"Quite a bit, I think," Arte said. "He's still weak, though."

Jim nodded, finally setting the heavy volume aside on the nightstand by his own bed. "We should try to sleep," he said, "and be ready to start out as soon as it's morning."

"I completely agree." Arte put his book down as well, albeit with reluctance. "But how are we going to travel around, Jim? The cab fare today was outrageous!"

"I know." Jim frowned. "We can't afford to travel very far in one of those."

"It would be all too easy to spend every bit of our modern money on the fare," Arte said.

Jim looked thoughtful. "I wonder if they still use horses here."

Arte sighed. "I've never been a fan of riding, but compared to those prices, a horse would likely be welcome." He stiffened as a new thought occurred to him. "Unless it costs a lot to rent them, too," he winced.

Jim cringed. "It might. We'll have to ask Mr. Norman about it in the morning."

"Or now." Arte looked to the door. "I think he's still up."

Jim got up and crossed to the door, easing it open to see into the hall. "It seems he really should be in bed, when he has so many responsibilities here."

"And he probably didn't sleep much, if anything, last night," Arte put in.

"We don't know where his room is, either," Jim noted. He started down the hall. "But we could check his office."

Arte shrugged and got up, following his friend. "It couldn't hurt," he said.

The corridors were silent as they headed up the path towards Ray's office. "The other guests certainly seem to be sleeping," Arte mused. "It feels like a tomb in here."

"Probably not the best analogy, but it _is_ quiet," Jim said.

Ray's office was dark when they arrived. And, they noticed, the strange device that had been on the desk was now gone.

"I wonder where that screen went," Jim mused.

"It's called a laptop, Jim," Arte said. "It's a fantastic machine! And it's portable, too. It could be just about anywhere, like Mr. Norman right now."

"Maybe not, Arte," Jim said. "Maybe Mr. Norman and his laptop are in with Rodman."

"Good point," Arte nodded. "Well? Shall we go crash whatever gathering they might be having?"

"We could see if Mr. Norman's there," Jim said. "Although we'd be running the risk of being wrong and possibly waking Rodman up."

"You know, I've never tried that in the middle of the night, even when he was feeling well," Arte said, and quipped, "I'm not sure I'm brave enough to try it when he _isn't_ feeling well."

"He needs his rest, anyway." Jim turned to start back up the hall. "It's not critical tonight. We can ask Mr. Norman about the horses in the morning."

"Good plan," Arte smiled. "Let's just get to bed, shall we?"

Jim nodded. "Let's."

xxxx

Coley leaned back, staring in amazement at the screen of the laptop computer. Ray had shown him how to turn it on, and what each of the little pictures meant, and how to click on them using the thing called a touchpad. Lastly he had brought up a program called a word processor and demonstrated how to type using the keyboard. Coley had hunted and pecked his way to several test sentences, watching in fascination as the words had appeared on the white program.

As Arte had once surmised, Coley was an intelligent sort. The computer was new to him, but despite being from another time and place, he had the drive and the capability to swiftly pick up the skill of using it.

"Neat, isn't it?" Ray said with pride.

"I've never seen anything like it," Coley said.

Ray reached to take it back. "I think that's enough of a lesson for tonight. Tomorrow I'll show you the Internet."

"What's that?" Coley blinked.

"It's . . ." Ray pondered on a way to explain that Coley might understand. "Well, I suppose you could say it's like a high-tech telegraph machine, only using words instead of Morse code. You can send messages to anyone, anywhere in the world, and find information on almost every topic you can think of. It's like an enormous library. It's how I researched you and the Secret Service agents."

Coley stared at him. "We're on this Internet?"

"Almost everyone is," Ray said. He winced. "Even me. My case was widely publicized after I was found."

He stood, the laptop under his arm. "Will you be alright here if I go to my room tonight?"

"Sure." Coley was certain he could manage. He would just rest until morning.

Suddenly remembering something, Ray said, "Oh, if you need to get hold of me for any reason . . ." He set the laptop down and grabbed the pad by the bedside, scribbling a series of numbers. Then, straightening, he indicated an object with numbered buttons Coley had been wondering about. "This is a communication device, a telephone. If you pick up this part of the telephone and hold it like this, and dial these numbers in this order, you can reach me. You'll hear my voice on this part of the device and talk into this other part."

"Is this part of the Internet too?" Coley blinked.

Ray chuckled. "Not exactly. But the Internet _does_ involve some of the same principles and technology."

Coley leaned back into the pillows. "What a place."

"It's the best time to be living," Ray said. Again picking up the laptop, he crossed to the door. "I'll say goodnight now."

Coley nodded. "Goodnight."

Ray smiled as he left Coley's room and headed to his own. They were getting along well. It was nice, to finally have someone to really talk to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: Flo is a character of mine I've used off and on for years. The incident mentioned in Snakes' newspaper here is detailed in a Livejournal story I wrote in out of order scenes called **_**Lux Aeterna. **_**And kudos to anyone who knows where this chapter's cameo character is from!**

**Chapter Seven**

Ray did not still always dream about what Dr. Portman had done to him. It had used to happen every night, but the doctors at the sanitarium had guided him enough towards healing that the night terrors had eased, at least in part.

The dreams returned now and then, unpredictable in their revival and timing. And when Ray collapsed into bed after not having slept at all the previous night, Portman was waiting for him in his mind.

"_Isn't it exciting, Mr. Norman?" _she exclaimed in all of her mad enthusiasm. _"You've found someone to latch onto as a companion in your Hell. Unfortunately, no one is allowed to stay together in Hell, you realize. That would ease some of the just punishment. And we can't have that now, can we? You have to suffer, Mr. Norman. You have to suffer for all of the wrongs you committed in your miserable existence. How can you pay for all of the lives you ruined? How can you ever atone for the suffering you brought to others? Only by burning here, from now through eternity!"_

And the flames leaped at him, surrounding him, consuming him, as he screamed in his anguish and pain.

It was the screaming that sent Coley almost flying out of bed. He bolted upright, the top of the quilt falling into his lap. He had been asleep for he did not know how long. Now he was wide awake, and judging from the light at the window, morning was coming. And someone nearby seemed to be in the throes of utter agony.

He could never go back to sleep with that going on. And, he realized, it sounded familiar.

"Norman?" he muttered under his breath.

He threw back the covers and shakily got up. He had been out of bed a couple of times that day, albeit briefly. He was still weak and dizzy, and he used the nightstand and the wall to support himself as he half-walked, half-limped to the door.

He frowned in confusion as he opened it and slipped into the hall. No other doors were open at all. How could anyone sleep through that? It was quieting now, dissolving more into despairing sobs and pleading, but it was still plenty loud enough to be heard.

Coley followed the sound down the hall to the door at the end. He was expecting the door to be locked, but instead the knob turned in his grasp. He stepped into the room and then stopped short.

It was Ray crying out, alright. He had made a complete mess of the covers on the bed, flinging them in every possible direction. He was burrowed into the pillow, gripping it with whitened knuckles.

"No," he choked out. "No, please. This is all over. You're not supposed to be here. You're locked away. _You_ are, not me! Not me."

Coley frowned. As he approached, he reached and grabbed Ray's shoulder. "Norman, wake up," he ordered.

Ray sprang upright, his eyes frantic but not awake. He snatched Coley's upper arms, moving to shove him away. Not having expected it, Coley could only react belatedly. He fell backwards onto the bed when he was pushed.

"Leave me alone!" Ray snarled. "Don't touch me, Portman. I'll kill you. I _swear_ I'll kill you. It won't be like before. I don't owe you anything, even if you did bring me back to life. You won't break me this time!" He started to lunge.

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Coley rose up enough to reach out and slap Ray across the face, once, twice. "Wake up before you hurt somebody!" he snapped.

Instead of striking back, Ray wavered. He blinked, repeatedly and in bewilderment, as he brought a shaking hand to his stinging cheek. "What . . . who . . ." His eyes widened in disbelief. "Rodman?! How did you get in here?"

"The door wasn't locked," Coley said, relaxing in relief. "And I was the only one who bothered to show up. I don't know why; you were screaming loud enough to make the dead roll over."

Ray shook his head, looking down at the mattress. "This wing is just for the employees," he mumbled. "I'm the only one who lives here full-time."

Coley stared at him. "Then why did you put me over here?"

Ray gave a weak shrug. "I thought you'd be less likely to be disturbed by the guests pounding up and down the halls. And instead _I'm_ the one who disturbed you." He looked up with regret and sorrow and a bit of fear. "Rodman, what did I do?"

"Nothing much," Coley answered. "You just thought I was someone called Portman."

Ray averted his gaze. "The mad scientist who tortured me," he said by way of explanation.

"I figured that one out from what you were saying." Coley frowned. "What was it she did to you? You said she brought you back to life."

"I was dead," Ray said, staring at the mattress again. "She took my body out of the morgue and revived me. I know it sounds insane, but I have proof that I was dead, so she must have really . . ."

"I believe you," Coley interrupted.

Ray jerked up. "You do?"

"I saw some other dead people come back to life not too long ago."

"You mean Pinto and the rest of that gang."

Coley peered at him. "You know that Pinto was . . ."

"I saw it when I was researching," Ray admitted. "And you talked about it in your delirium."

Coley exhaled in exasperation. "Of course." Wanting to change the subject, he said, "I also heard you saying something about burning in Hell at one point."

"Oh." Ray shook his head. "Portman figured out that I was horrified at the thought of having been dead. She used that against me every way she could. She always tried to make me think I was in Hell, and that I was never going to get out or be able to go to Heaven. She even pretended, literally, to be God, telling me I had to stay in Hell." He shuddered.

Coley swore under his breath. "And she's locked up now?"

"In an insane asylum for criminals," Ray confirmed. "But I'm always afraid she's going to break out and come after me again. I've hired extra security guards and installed expensive alarm systems, all just to try to keep her out."

"Is there much chance she really could get out?" Coley wondered.

"Probably not," Ray sighed. "The doctors at the sanitarium tried to convince me of that, but I just couldn't be at peace."

"That makes sense."

"You're lucky," Ray said after a moment.

Coley gave him a Look. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't think Pinto will come after you again," Ray elaborated. "You don't have to live in the terror of being jerked out of your bed some night and dragged off to a torture chamber, no matter how desperately you fight against it. . . ." He trailed off with a shudder.

". . . Yeah, I guess not." Coley started to get up. "If I leave you alone, will you be alright now?"

"I think so," Ray nodded. "Thanks for getting me out of that dream, by the way. Even if it was a little painful." He idly touched his cheek.

"I really thought you might try to kill me if I didn't do something," Coley answered. "That wouldn't have done me _or_ you any good."

Ray shook his head, covering his eyes with his hand. "I'm sorry," he said with deep regret.

"There's no serious harm done," Coley said. "Let's forget it."

"But for me to go after you, when I've been trying to help you . . ." Ray shuddered.

Uncomfortable, Coley sat back down and gripped Ray's shoulder. "Hey, look. You didn't know it was me. And maybe I should've just left you alone instead of trying to wake you up. But I didn't, so I got hit with the natural consequences."

Ray finally looked up. "You're awfully forgiving, especially considering your profession."

"It depends on the situation," Coley grunted.

"I suppose," Ray said slowly.

"You were with that crazy doc for two years. It's probably impossible to figure you can just put all of that behind you, even after spending some time in a loony bin. I wouldn't know but what that would just make it worse."

Ray managed a weak chuckle. "There were some days when I wondered," he admitted. "The doctors were very good, though."

"Well, that's something."

"Yes, quite a big something," Ray said. "But there are days when I backslide and realize I never have completely healed."

"And there'll probably be more days like that. You just have to figure you'll keep on going anyway."

Ray nodded. "I know." He paused. "Rodman . . . have you been dreaming about what Pinto did to you? I mean, since the fever left you."

Coley hesitated too. "Yes," he admitted. "I woke up from one of those when you yelled. So I guess I should thank you for that."

Ray didn't look comforted. "Out of one mess and into another."

"You I could handle," Coley returned. "But I can't figure out how to twist dreams in my favor if they're not going that way."

"That would be a nice skill to have," Ray said.

Again Coley started to get off the bed. "Yeah. But it'd take too much time to make it work."

"Time is hard to come by," Ray sighed. "At the sanitarium I had little else _but_ time. Here, it's back to life as usual. But I'd rather have it this way."

"Who wouldn't?" Coley said.

"I can't imagine.

"Oh, did you see Mr. West and Mr. Gordon out in the hall?"

"No," Coley replied with a raised eyebrow. "Why? Are they in this part of the place too?"

"Yes," Ray confessed. "I thought it would be better if they weren't near the other guests."

"They would've come if they'd heard you," Coley said. "They're like that."

"They might be reading in the library or just exploring the whole building," Ray acknowledged.

"Probably." Coley paused at the door. "Do you live here all the time?"

"That's right." Ray got up too and started to try to rearrange the covers in their proper order.

"Why?" Coley wondered. "I mean, isn't it uncomfortable to just live at your business?"

Ray laughed. "Frankly, since coming back from the dead, I just don't have enough money to afford a house too," he said. "I'm lucky to be able to pay for this place. And even if it ever gets off the ground enough to give me that kind of money again, I don't know if I'd feel comfortable going away each night and returning each morning. There'd be too many chances for Portman to grab me, if she did break out. Besides . . ." His voice lowered. "I don't want to live alone. I would be, if I moved away from here."

He straightened as he fluffed out the pillow. "Maybe that's the real reason I let Mrs. Featherstone live here and keep her cat. She wants to be where other people are. And that's what I want, too."

Coley considered that and nodded. "Well, if you go back to sleep and start dreaming about Portman again, try not to clobber anyone who tries to touch you," he said.

"I think I'll be alright now," Ray said. "I'm sorry I acted like a wild man."

Coley shrugged and limped into the hall. "I can't say I blame you. I lit into Pinto the first chance I got. Do you want this door locked or not?"

Ray ran a hand into his hair. "It's been unlocked all this time," he said. "By now I'll need to get up soon. You might as well leave it unlocked."

"You know," Coley told him, "if you're really the boss around here, you should be able to adjust your hours if you need to."

Ray smirked. "That would be nice. There's so much that has to get done, though."

"Do what you figure you have to. I'm going back to bed."

Ray listened as Coley wandered back up the corridor and into his own room. He sighed, sinking back onto the bed.

"Of all nights," he muttered. "Why tonight?"

But he knew the answer to that already. Tonight he had been happy for a while. Of course his fears and insecurities and the ghosts of what Portman had done to him would rear up if he were happy. She had never wanted him to be happy, unless it was to be torn away from him.

He clenched a fist. He was not going to allow himself to be dominated by that witch any longer. He was going to continue taking control of his life. And that included finding some happiness, if he at all could.

He laid down, pulling the fixed covers up around him. Instead of just being furious at being woke up, Coley had calmed him. Maybe he really would be alright now.

When at last he dozed, his sleep was blissfully devoid of dreams.

xxxx

Ray was right about Jim and Arte being awake. They had slept for a while but had awakened in the middle of the night. Unable to sleep any further, they had looked through the borrowed volumes a bit longer and then had decided to go back to the club's library and see what else they could learn there.

"You know, Arte," Jim mused as he looked through a heavy volume on the history of the Secret Service, "I wonder if we need to try contacting someone else about us being here."

"Hmm?" Arte glanced up in surprise. "Such as?"

"Such as our old employers." Jim indicated the book.

"They'd never believe it," Arte objected.

"Mr. Norman does," Jim replied. "He looked up information about us. If we showed the same information, and could prove that we were really who we claimed to be . . ."

Arte pushed himself out of the wine-colored chair. "I don't see what good it would do," he said. "Even if we could get them to believe us, they wouldn't have any better idea than us how to get home."

"That's probably true," Jim said guardedly.

Arte looked over. "Only _probably_?"

Jim closed the book and set it aside. "Well, I was just thinking about the times we had to make sure the details of some of our cases didn't get out to the general public. We were trying to avoid creating a panic.

"Suppose the government knows there's such a thing as time travel. I have a hard time believing they'd want that information to be spread far and wide. There'd be too much chance of it being used for evil."

Arte finally nodded. "I see your point, Jim," he conceded. "I guess it's possible."

"It's just something to keep in mind," Jim said, "in case we can't find a portal. We'll check around for that first."

"Oh, well, of course," said Arte, dryly. "After all, there's no point in bothering the United States government about a problem like this if we don't have to."

"Exactly," Jim grunted.

"It's almost light now," Arte observed with a glance at the window. "But do tell what we're going to do today if Mr. Norman doesn't get up soon?"

"We'll think of something," Jim replied. "People seem to sleep later these days. It probably wouldn't hurt if we did, too."

"I don't feel the least bit tired right now," Arte said.

"I don't either, Arte, but maybe we should go back to our room and try." Jim started for the door. "By the time we're awake again, Mr. Norman might be up too."

Arte shrugged. "It's worth a try, I suppose."

He followed Jim into the hall.

xxxx

Snakes Tolliver wandered down the streets of Los Angeles, tense and uneasy. The early-morning newspaper was tucked under his arm, having been skimmed through but not yet properly read.

As he walked, some people stopped and stared, amazed not by his clothes, but by the nasty scar on his left cheek. Passers-by scurried out of the way as he approached, not wanting him to feel crowded in. They seemed to think he was someone important, and he liked that enough to let it keep on. The scar had always been an attention-grabber in his own time; apparently that was one thing that had not changed.

He had no idea where Lucrece Posey and her board members were right now, and after his encounter with Pinto and Cyril yesterday, he was far more uneasy about that than he had previously been. There had to be something he could do, some way to keep them off of his back.

Perhaps, he mused, he really needed to rid himself of them altogether. Trying to kill Posey had been the start of all his problems, so it would have to be everyone in that crazy organization. And preferably, it should be all of them at once. Then there wouldn't be anyone left to come after him.

But he also did not want to try killing them all on his own. He did not want to risk being caught. And if necessary, he wanted someone else to blame it on.

He was not prepared to hire an assassin. What he really wanted was to find someone who might consider going into a partnership with him, someone who would also benefit from their deaths. Either from that or from the time travel portal. He had found out that people in 2012 were often fascinated with the idea of time travel. A production involving it was one of the most popular of those things called television shows. Surely he could find a criminal somewhere who was high up on the totem pole and would like forming a partnership with him, with perhaps the promise of traveling through time if they succeeded.

Of course, it would help if he knew whether there _was_ a portal. He might have to gamble and say he needed help finding it, since there was so much territory to cover. And he would have to find a way to prove that he was telling the truth, so his would-be partner would not simply dismiss him for insanity.

At last he slipped into a park and to a bench deep within it. Sitting down and spreading open the paper, he began reading a story that had caught his eye before.

Apparently the Los Angeles police were on the lookout for a career criminal known only as Flo. She had caused a great deal of trouble over the summer, using a mysterious box to take over the world. Everyone was still trying to pick up the pieces from that. And Flo had just recently escaped police custody.

Snakes leaned back with a thoughtful smirk. Flo sounded dangerous, maybe not even keeping hold of all the cards in her deck. But she might be just the sort of lady he was looking for, someone already mixed up with unusual things and hence, open-minded. And, being on the run, she might be desperate for a solution.

Of course, once all was said and done and his future secure and safe, he would have to get rid of her. He wouldn't trust a character like Flo as far as he could throw her. But if she could be useful for a while, that was all he really wanted.

He smirked to himself as he stood, folding the paper again. It would not be hard for him to find out about the local underworld circles. And from there, he could learn of Flo's current whereabouts very quickly.

It was going to be a busy but useful day.

What he was not aware of was the fact that he had picked up a silent follower along the way. Gallito, being a professional assassin, knew how to stalk his prey without drawing attention to himself. And he intended to follow Snakes as long as he could without being discovered. Snakes was the first person from the 1870s that Gallito had stumbled across, and just in case he could lead Gallito to anyone else, it might be profitable to tail him.

Anyway, it was always good to know what a traitor such as Snakes was up to. If absolutely necessary, Gallito could use one of his beloved spiders to remove Snakes from the picture altogether.

It amused Gallito that his spiders were always thought to be tarantulas. But with those beautiful creatures being perfectly harmless unless the person was allergic to their bite, Gallito found it far more useful to keep funnel web spiders for assassinations. He just let everyone think they were tarantulas, since they were so dyed in their misconceptions. Any tarantulas he had were only pets.

He smirked to himself. Snakes was good with explosives, but other than that he really wasn't that clever. Trying to kill Miss Posey had been one of the most stupid things he could have done. What had he thought would happen if he had succeeded—that everyone would have unquestioningly accepted him as the new chairman of the board? Pinto and Brutus would have argued over which one got to kill him for his traitorous actions.

He frowned as they eventually entered a dreary part of town. Snakes seemed to know exactly where he was going. When he wandered into a dive called The Purple Pelican, Gallito raised an eyebrow at the moniker and waited a moment before slipping in as well.

A blonde showgirl was stacking glasses at the bar as Snakes talked with her. Gallito took a table, keeping his hat pulled low over his eyes. They were not whispering; Gallito could hear them fairly well from his position.

"Flo?" the showgirl frowned. She had a high-pitched, almost childlike voice.

"That's right, Ruby," Snakes said smoothly. He was certainly moving fast, to already have her name. "You know about Flo, right?" He took out his newspaper and pointed to an article. "This character here."

Ruby peered at the page. "Oh, her." She shuddered. "She wouldn't ever come to a place like this. And I'm just glad of that."

"Why?" Snakes returned.

"Why what?" Ruby added another glass to her pyramid.

"Why to both."

"Someone like Flo would turn up her nose at our place," Ruby said. "She's a snob."

"Oh, she likes fancy places, huh?"

"Yeah. And I don't want her here because she's in the real big-time. Taking over the world with a weird box is just creepy." She scowled. "And her sister tried to kill Baby Face."

"Baby Face?"

Ruby nodded. "You know Baby Face."

"No, I don't." Snakes walked around to catch her eye. "I just got into town."

That did not faze her. "Baby Face Morales," she explained. "You wouldn't wanna cross him."

Snakes leaned on the edge of the bar. "Would Baby Face not want me to find Flo?"

"I don't think he'd care," Ruby shrugged. "Flo's nothing to him."

"So where do you think I should look to find her?" Snakes ran a finger down one of the glasses on the bottom of Ruby's art piece.

"I don't think you should look for her," Ruby said. "But if you really want to, I guess there are some places you could check. Just a minute, I'll write them down." She hurried around the other side of the bar and dug out a pad and pencil. After scratching down several lines, she tore off the sheet and handed it to Snakes.

He took it with a touch to the brim of his hat. "Thank you, Ruby," he smiled.

"Good luck," Ruby told him. "But hey, I hope you won't try taking over the world with her!"

Snakes shrugged. "You never can tell." With that he strolled out and Gallito got up to follow.

Ruby looked to him, seeing the movement. "Do you want something?" She seemed tense and edgy after Snakes' last words.

"Only to follow that man, _Señorita_," Gallito said with a charming smile.

"Oh. Do you want to find Flo too?"

"Not especially, at the moment." Gallito bowed. "Excuse me."

Snakes was already far down the block when Gallito stepped out of The Purple Pelican. Gallito narrowed his eyes, keeping his quarry in sight as he caught up as much as he dared.

More mysteries were unfolding. Why was this Flo of such great importance? What could Snakes possibly want with her? And what was this about taking over the world with a _box?_

Suddenly Snakes froze and started to turn. Gallito darted between two buildings. It had taken him a long time, but at last he was aware he was being pursued.

Or he had the suspicion, at any rate. Frowning to himself at seeing no one, Snakes turned away and continued his path.

Gallito emerged and resumed the shadowing. He would have to be more careful now. He had no intention of losing track of Snakes, particularly after what he had heard.

_Take care, my friend,_ he mused in his mind. _You may very well be taking steps towards a great fall._

_One that I may have to assist you in crafting._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: While I was writing the scene with Jim, it suddenly occurred to me that I never had written in Arte thanking Coley for trying to save Jim. I'd thought about it before, but it didn't seem to fit in Chapter Five. I'm trying it here, but I wonder if I should put it in the other chapter even though it didn't seem to fit.**

**Chapter Eight**

When Ray next awoke, he had no idea how long he had been sleeping. He raised half-off the pillow, his hair flopping messily over his right eye. Digging into it with his fingers, he brushed it out of the way.

"What time is it?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

The clock at the side of the bed answered his question. And it sent him bolting upright in alarm.

"How could I have slept _that_ late?!" he exclaimed.

He nearly flew off the bed with the comforter still wrapped around him. In impatience he brushed it aside, hurrying to the closet.

"This is why I should always set the alarm," he muttered as he threw his clothes over his arm.

This past night he had not, both because he had forgot and perhaps because, subconsciously, he had just wanted to rest. Being tortured by Portman in his dreams had only reinforced that feeling and he had taken Coley's suggestion to heart. He really shouldn't need to constantly be around. The staff could handle opening the club for business without him there.

But he liked to be available anyway. This was his project, his desperate attempt to go straight after his years steeped in crime. It was nice to oversee everything, to watch it all continue coming together, piece by piece.

He paused as he set the clothes on the bed and moved to unbutton his pajamas. Would Coley still feel as amiable as he had the past night? Maybe he would have a different, more irritated image of what had happened now that morning had dawned.

. . . Or maybe not.

Ray blinked as he glanced across the room to the door. It was now locked. He had taught Coley how to lock and unlock doors with the cardkeys, so that he could leave his room and keep it perfectly private, if he wanted. Perhaps Coley had woken up some time ago and had gone to check on Ray. And, finding him still asleep, he had locked the door to keep anyone from bothering him.

Ray smiled. It was a nice thought, anyway.

xxxx

Coley wandered the back halls of the golf club, avoiding the guests and other staff members whenever possible. He could hear them talking and moving about in the various rooms and corridors. And although he wanted to explore his surroundings, he did not particularly want to have to explain his presence to a bewildered employee or end up roped into a conversation with a curious guest.

Well, he reflected, Ray had probably told his employees, if for no other reason than to make sure they knew Coley was welcome. And at least Mrs. Featherstone knew he was there. If she was an old gossip, she had probably spread it to everyone else by now. But that would likely make the guests all the more inquisitive, so it was all the more reason to stay away for now.

He had discovered that Ray had left him some fresh clothes, which he had been surprised by but had gratefully put on. They were comfortable, and overall not a great deal different from what he was used to, and that in itself was another surprise. He would have hated wearing a suit.

He kept his hat and bandanna, the latter mainly to hide the marks on his neck where Pinto had pulled the noose taut. He hoped they would fade before long, but until then he did not want there to be any chance of strangers noticing and asking questions he did not want to answer.

The room where Ray had brought him that first night sounded empty. He turned the knob, noiselessly pushing open the door. The lounge was devoid of other human life, but a silver fluffball quickly padded to him with a meow and rubbed against his leg.

"Crazy cat," he muttered.

He entered the room and wandered over to the patio doors, Jane right by his side. When he stopped to look out, he noted the series of cabins protruding from a wing attached to the main building.

"Your owner must be in one of those," he said. "What are you doing hanging around here?"

Jane leaped onto the small table near the doors and meowed again. Relenting, he reached over and patted her head.

"You've been pretty good," he muttered. "Crazy, but good."

And that had been a relief. He did not like when animals of any sort went wild and disrupted a place. He would have had her thrown out of his room if she had shown the slightest inclination towards such behavior.

Jane purred and closed her eyes in sheer bliss.

"I never would have believed it—Coley Rodman, friend of animals everywhere."

He spun to look to the door. Arte was moseying into the room, looking highly amused.

Coley grunted in annoyance. "Hardly."

"It's kind of hard to believe you when you have a kitty leaning into your hand," Arte smirked.

"This cat must have me mixed up with someone else," Coley said dryly. "Maybe I have a double running around who's on the right side of the law."

"Oh, she'd still be able to tell the difference," Arte replied, coming to stand by a fancy chair. "She likes _you,_ Rodman."

"I don't know why." Coley crossed his arms. "What do you want, Gordon?" He observed the bloodshot condition of Arte's eyes. Apparently he had been awake for some time.

Arte shrugged. "I'm just exploring, same as I imagine you are." He sobered. "And I'm glad to see you're up. I didn't think you would be yet."

"I felt well enough. And I didn't want to lie in bed all day. It looks like you were even more impatient than me."

"Yes, wasn't I."

Coley could tell there was something more behind it. But he was the last person who would pry. If Arte did not want to say, then fine, whatever.

He glanced at Jane as she laid a paw on his hand. "Where's West?"

"Looking for Mr. Norman," Arte said. "Actually, I am, too. We need to ask him about proper transportation so we can go looking for a portal."

"Maybe the portal won't be visible," Coley said. "Maybe you'll just stumble into it and suddenly be back in 1874."

"Maybe," Arte agreed. "But it seems like there'd be some kind of energy, at least, and we'd feel it. An opening through time would surely generate a great deal of it."

"I wouldn't know about that. I never even thought about time travel before this happened." Coley watched Arte wander to the bookshelves and gaze in contemplation at the rows of volumes.

"Fortunately, or _un_fortunately, I have," said Arte. "Jim and I experienced it in the past. It was a _strange_ experience, and that's hardly saying anything. We went backwards in time. Let me tell you, I much prefer going forward."

Coley smirked. "It doesn't really surprise me that you've time traveled before. It sounds just like the kind of outlandish adventure you'd have."

Arte turned to look at him, still standing by the table with an adoring silver Persian cat. It was an odd image any way he looked at it. At last he said, "You really are a mystery, Rodman, in more ways than one."

"Is that good or bad this time?" Coley returned.

Arte shrugged. "I'm not even sure. You're a vicious outlaw—or so I thought—with an above-average vocabulary, a seeming desire to go straight, and a cat following you around like you're the Pied Piper of Hamlin."

"I didn't ask for the cat," Coley countered. "I don't get it any more than you do."

"Maybe not, but you don't try to rout her away, either," Arte said with a funny smile.

"I will if she gets on my nerves."

"Sure, sure." Arte started back towards the door.

"And Gordon . . ."

Arte turned back, hearing the seriousness in Coley's tone.

"I _do_ want to go straight. You can put that in your report . . . if you ever need to write it."

Arte nodded. "Of course."

He reached for the doorknob and then paused. "Rodman, I haven't known exactly how to say this. . . . I mean . . ." He threw his hands in the air. "How do I properly say thank you for trying to save Jim?"

"Especially when he wasn't in any real danger?" Coley responded wryly.

"We didn't know that. _You_ didn't know that. But you dived right in there and . . ." Arte shook his head.

"You don't need to say anything," Coley told him.

"Maybe not, but I wanted you to know I appreciated the thought behind it."

"I don't even know what the thought was."

Arte smiled. "Well. Thank you anyway."

Again he moved to leave and again he hesitated. "Do you want to come with us to look for the portal?" he queried at last.

Coley frowned, considering the offer. He was still weakened and weary. He definitely did not want to go if they would be walking. But he doubted Arte would extend the invitation if that were the plan. Arte wanted to ask Ray about transportation, after all.

Aside from that, though, did he care that much whether or not a portal was found? He wanted to help Jim and Arte on their way if they intended to leave, but he was finding that he was not that eager to cross over himself. There was no guarantee that Arte's report would have the desired effect for him. And here he did not even have to worry about that. He was free; he could start over without going through any of those complications.

It was very tempting to linger. He had not made any certain decisions yet, of course, but as far as he was concerned the possibility was not out of the question. Above all else, right now he wanted to learn more about this time.

"I don't know," he said finally.

Arte seemed to understand. "It's fine if you don't," he said. "You should probably stay here and work on getting better."

Coley nodded. ". . . Thanks for asking, instead of ordering me to go along as your prisoner."

"Well. As I said, we really can't legally order you anywhere in this time and place," Arte said. "Besides, you're probably still not feeling that chipper. Mr. Norman seems to be taking good care of you. I imagine we can trust him to keep doing that." He headed into the hall. "I'd better find Jim."

Coley watched him go. He was certainly on better terms with Arte than when they had first started that investigation into the explosion at Justice. He idly wondered how it would be with Jim, since they had not interacted anywhere as much.

He had his chance to find out soon after leaving the lounge. As he headed down the hall, Jim suddenly appeared from the other direction.

"Rodman," Jim greeted with a slight nod. "You seem to be recovering well."

"Not badly." Coley jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Gordon's back there somewhere," he said. "He's looking for you."

"I'd better find him then." But Jim hesitated. "I guess I should thank you," he said at last.

"For what?" Coley grunted. "I didn't do anything for you that needed doing."

"Maybe not, but as far as you knew, you were saving my life when you tackled me away from that electrical beam. I promise that's going to get consideration in Arte's report."

"If you ever get back so he'll need to make his report," Coley said.

"Maybe we will." Jim paused again. "He was really quite worried about you."

"He told me." Coley could feel the suspicion and tension in the air. Neither of them was sure how to handle this conversation. And Jim was trying to figure out what he thought of Coley at all.

"It's possible that you've been trying to get into our good graces all this time, playing on our sympathies to help your own case," Jim said.

"It's possible," Coley agreed, guardedly.

At his feet, Jane meowed.

Jim glanced at her and then back at Coley. "But Arte isn't easy to fool," he said. "And he believes in you completely. That's more than enough to make me willing to consider your case. And aside from that, when you tried to save me, I felt that you were sincere. You seemed to genuinely not want Arte to suffer over something happening to me."

Coley shrugged. "The whole case was trying to find out what happened to you," he said. "If you'd croaked then, it would've been pointless."

"That's one way of looking at it." Jim studied his former enemy. "Another way is that you cared about human beings other than yourself.

"And either way, I just hope you've been honest with us. If you _are_ trying to manipulate us, and you really have no intention of changing your ways, we'll find out about it eventually. And you'll wish you'd never tried it."

Coley looked Jim right in the eyes. "I've never lied to you or to Gordon on this case. I'm tired of running, West. I admit that. I want out. And when Gordon suggested he could do something to help me if I helped him, I realized it was the best deal I could make right then. Besides, I wanted to prove that I didn't try to blow you up.

"Maybe I've helped him to suit my own needs. I know that's at least partially true. But I never claimed I wasn't in it for myself. And until we ended up here, he never even said he could get me immunity, which is what I really want. Before that, as far as I knew, the most I could hope for was that he'd make sure I wouldn't be killed."

"You could have been killed protecting me, for all you knew," said Jim.

"I wasn't trying to get killed," Coley replied. "I thought the beam would miss both of us."

"I figured as much," Jim said. "If you _had_ died, it would have kept haunting Arte."

"But not you?"

"It would have haunted me too." Jim peered at him. "Mainly because I'd be racking my brain trying to understand why you did it."

"I'm still trying to figure that one out myself," Coley grunted. "If you're hoping I can tell you, you're dead wrong."

"So that thing about it being pointless if I died wasn't really the reason," Jim said.

"It could have been," Coley said.

Jim's expression was impassive. ". . . Arte also said that you didn't go along with Dr. Kirby's plan to destroy entire towns and cities. And that you didn't kill him in cold blood."

"That's right." Coley did not waver or hesitate. "I wasn't going in for any mass murder. It was pointless and would've just turned out badly for me and the others. And about the doc, I meant to kill him; I realized he was a danger to all of us. But it ended up working out that I had to kill him in self-defense. He went nuts, West. He wanted to blindly shoot down everyone who'd barged in on his death work—me, Lafe, you, and who knows who else. He pulled a gun on me, fired, and I shot him."

Now Jim's eyes narrowed. He stared at Coley for a long moment, searching, not seeming to believe. But finally he leaned back. The tension eased. "I believe you, Rodman."

"You just wanted to bait me into saying all of that," Coley said in irritation.

"I wanted to hear it right from you, to see if you'd tell it the same to me as you did to Arte." Jim nodded to himself. "And as far as I can tell, you did."

"So you're satisfied?"

"Probably as much as I can be." Jim peered at him. "We've heard a lot about you, Rodman, both before we met you and after. I wonder how much of it was fact and how much was fiction."

"I couldn't say, without knowing what you heard. I've committed more than a few crimes in my time. But you know as well as I do that outlaws like me get built up a lot in legends."

"I know," Jim agreed. "And not just outlaws." He crossed one hand over the other. "I've been surprised many times by what I've heard about myself."

"Well, there you go." Coley moved to go past him.

Jim stepped aside to let him pass. "One more thing. Do you know where Mr. Norman is?"

"The last I knew, he was sleeping," Coley said over his shoulder.

"Do you happen to know where his room is?"

"Yeah. But don't worry; I'm sure he'll come and find you when he's up."

"We need to get going, Rodman." Jim frowned.

"You can wait a little longer."

Coley clearly had no intention of directing Jim to Ray's room. Jim watched him go and then turned away, continuing his original journey down the corridor.

Coley seemed to be trying to return Ray's kindness by not allowing anyone to interfere with Ray's sleep. And Jim supposed they could wait for another hour or so. He _did _want to find Arte.

xxxx

Pinto was lying in bed, his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

He had been awake for some time, mulling over the past night in his mind. He was good at figuring things out, but the solution to this puzzle continued to elude him.

He had always understood Lucrece. She was hard and she was cold and she was an efficient businesswoman. She detested illogic, in-fighting, and stupidity.

And yet, last night she had behaved in a completely illogical way. Pinto standing by that dresser in the hall had upset her to no end. She had admitted blaming him for dying and yelling at him for it. And then she had calmed, embracing him as she never had before.

With any other woman, emotional creatures that they were, and so darned unable to say what they really meant, Pinto might be inclined to say she was showing that she loved him. But with Lucrece, who had never loved him or anyone else . . . was it _possible?_

He had long ago accepted that his feelings would never be reciprocated. Yet, even though he liked that she was hard and cold and different from all other women he had known, he had wished that she would be warm just with him if no one else.

He had wished that she would care.

If there was any possibility it could be true, he could picture Lucrece balking at said truth. And most likely she would be trying to deny it more to herself than to anyone else. Having seen how such feelings could backfire and be used against people, she would esteem personally caring about anyone as being a weakness in herself and want no part of it.

Maybe it _was_ a weakness, but it was one he wanted her to have where he was concerned. He wanted to see her eyes light up when he entered a room. He wanted to know that he meant more than a useful board member and an entertaining pastime. He wanted the assurance that she would not tire of him someday while he would still care about her and want to be with her.

Perhaps he would have to pay closer attention to the way she behaved around him. If this possible caring wasn't just his imagination, he wanted to know.

Then he would have to figure out how to convince _her_ it wasn't just his imagination.

He pushed himself up. It was time to start another day of looking for the rest of the board members. Cyril might or might not be joining them; either he had crashed on the couch once the footage of the big fire ended or he was wide awake, psyched up by so many hours of watching his favorite thing.

Or the footage hadn't ended and he was _still_ watching it. Lucrece would see to it that he came with them anyway, though, in that case.

He grabbed his hat and headed out of the room and downstairs. Cyril was staring at the screen, wide-eyed. The flames leaped and danced as the firefighters called instructions to each other, desperate to quell the furious blaze.

Pinto shook his head in disbelief. "Still goin' strong, is it?"

"It is amazing!" Cyril exclaimed. "It is better than any of those sports. I only wish I could be right there. I would start more fires so those men couldn't keep trying to extinguish this thing of beauty. They would be too busy trying to keep from being consumed!"

"But that would get you in the public eye, Cyril," Pinto pointed out. "And that wouldn't be good for any of us right now."

Cyril shrugged. "The fire should be preserved and protected. I wouldn't be caught."

"You can see for yourself they're picking up everything," Pinto said. "Those overhead pictures of the fire catch it all. The close-ups, too."

Cyril sighed. "Too true."

Suddenly he leaped up, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Pinto, look!"

Pinto raised an eyebrow and leaned over. "Well, I'll be." He smirked. "Is that Brutus hidin' behind that tree?"

Cyril gave an enthusiastic nod. "Maybe he thinks I started the fire and he is looking for me there!"

"That's not completely impossible," Pinto admitted. "I'll go tell Lucrece. Looks like you'll get your wish of being able to go up there."

Cyril grinned wildly.

"Just remember—don't really start any fires," Pinto cautioned as he headed out of the room. "Lucrece wouldn't like it."

"I know," Cyril said, waving him off. Until he came back with Miss Posey, Cyril had every intention of staying right there, not missing a moment of the action.

Pinto shook his head. Cyril was already addicted to the television set. Lucrece probably wasn't going to like that, either.

xxxx

Terrance Clay stared at his strange customer in disbelief. The man was already on his third sandwich, and judging from how ravenously he was making it disappear, a fourth did not seem out of the question.

"If I said you have a healthy appetite, it would be an understatement," Clay declared.

Sergei looked at him over the edge of the sandwich. "So?"

"I'm just impressed, is all," Clay said. "You make me wonder if I should have turned my restaurant and grill into an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Sergei shrugged. "I like to eat."

"Yes, I can certainly see that." Clay leaned on the counter. "You're giving me some good business to start the day. You don't happen to have any friends who like to eat as much as you do, by any chance?"

"Not as much," Sergei said. "But they like to eat too."

"Well, I hope you'll send them around."

"When I find them."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "They're lost?"

"No," Sergei insisted. "I just do not know where they are." He started to get up. "I want three sandwiches to take with me."

Clay blinked. "Take-out isn't something I generally offer. But, since you've been a very profitable customer, I'll make an exception." He smiled and straightened. "All the same, or different?"

"Different." Sergei looked at the menu. "This, this, and this."

"Very well! And that will bring your total bill to this." Clay scribbled out the check and passed it across the counter.

Sergei frowned at it. "Your prices are high."

"You pay for what you get," Clay answered. "Are you satisfied with what you've gotten so far?"

Sergei considered the question and finally nodded. "Yes."

"Then the price is worth it. I'll be back with your sandwiches before you know it."

Sergei dug into his money pouch when Clay went into the kitchen. Removing several coin pieces, he counted them out and set them on the counter. As Clay returned, Sergei got up and pushed them across. "Here."

Clay glanced at the coins as he handed over the paper bag. "Dollar pieces! I haven't seen those in a while. Most people these days pay with plastic."

Sergei gave him a blank look. "Plastic?"

But now Clay was not listening. As he took a closer look at the coins, his jaw dropped. "My good man!" he gasped. "You've overpaid me!"

Sergei tensed. "I give exactly what paper says."

Clay shook his head. "These coins are from the 1870s!" he exclaimed. "How in the world did they end up with you? Why, just one of these coins would be enough to pay for at least . . . I don't know how many sandwiches!"

Sergei's eyes grew dreamy. "You speak the truth?"

"Yes indeed!" Clay pushed the coins back towards him. "You'd better check your wallet again, my friend. A few crisp bills from the 2000s will be just fine, thank you."

Sergei took all the coins back but one. "Keep this," he instructed. "I'll be back later with a much bigger order."

Clay gaped. "But . . ."

"It is still good money, isn't it?" Sergei demanded.

Clay shook his head dazedly. "It isn't standard currency any more, but I suppose I could take it to a coin dealer. . . ."

"Good. You take it! I come back." Sergei started to leave but then paused. "But I order six more sandwiches to take right now."

"S-Six?" Clay tried to force himself back to the present. "O-Of course. What kind would you like?"

Sergei grabbed the menu again in glee.

He had been bewildered when he had first realized that he was in a different time and place.

Now, however, he knew he was going to love it here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Coley ran into Ray as he continued to wander down the hall.

"Oh, here you are," Ray declared. He smiled, noticeably relaxing. "I went to look for you in your room, but you weren't there."

Coley shrugged. "I thought I should start figuring the layout of your place, if I'm going to stay a while."

Ray nodded. "That's logical. I was going to give you a guided tour myself."

"You're welcome to it," said Coley. "I've mostly stuck to the back halls so far. I'm not crazy about running into your other guests."

"I understand. And I don't blame you." Ray glanced down the corridor. "Are you hungry? We could eat in one of the private dining rooms."

"Sure," Coley agreed. "Oh, West and Gordon are looking for you. They want to talk to you about transportation so they can look for a portal."

"What? Oh." Ray moved to guide Coley along. "I'll find them after breakfast."

Coley smirked in amusement. "You're going to make United States government agents wait?"

"They need to eat too," Ray said. "I bet they haven't yet."

"And they might not, until they find you," Coley pointed out.

Ray sighed. "You're right," he conceded. "Alright, we'll find them first and tell them to get something to eat. And we'll eat. Then we'll see about their transportation or whatever." He hesitated. "Are you going to go with them?"

Coley shrugged. "I don't know. I don't particularly want to."

"Then don't," Ray countered immediately. "Stay here and rest."

Coley glanced to him. "That'd be fine with me. But what are you going to tell them to do about transportation, anyway?"

"I don't know," Ray admitted. "There's not much they can do, other than hiring a cab."

"They don't use horses here?" Coley wondered as they headed back up the hall.

"They do," Ray said slowly, "but generally not in the city. Mr. West and Mr. Gordon would only make spectacles of themselves. Not to mention endangering themselves, the horses, and probably everyone else traveling, if they tried to go on the freeway."

Coley's expression was blank again. "What's a freeway?"

Ray mentally checked himself. "It's where the automobiles—our main ground transportation—are allowed to travel at high speeds. If horses suddenly appeared, the automobiles would have to slow down and they might crash into each other. And into the horses."

Coley frowned. "I saw some of those things speeding by when I first got here. You're right; they go pretty fast.

"And most people know how to control them?"

"Yes," Ray nodded. "The great majority of people here drive." He hesitated. "Are you possibly interested in learning?"

"I don't know." Coley pushed back his hat. "If something can go that fast, I'm not sure if I trust it. Or the other people going that fast."

Ray chuckled. "I can't say I blame you there. Well, we'll think about it later. There wouldn't be much point in learning if . . ." He sobered. "If you're not going to stay."

"And I don't know that, either." Coley gazed into the distance. "If West and Gordon would let me stay, and if I wouldn't break the space-time continuum . . ." He added this in a dry, sarcastic tone and left the sentence hanging in the air.

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Ray told him. "Well, except what you'd like for breakfast. Or I suppose brunch would be a better term by now."

Coley smirked. "And that's not such a tough decision to make."

"You might think differently when you see what's available," Ray said.

"Oh really."

"Yes."

"Let's find out." Coley grabbed hold of a heavy door marked _Private Dining Room._ "Show me what kind of food you've got."

"You won't be able to open this," Ray informed him. "It's kept locked." He took out his master cardkey and soon had the door unlocked. Pushing it open, he showed Coley the room beyond.

"It's fancy," Coley mused. "But not too good for me."

"We'll come here to eat after we find Mr. West and Mr. Gordon," Ray said. "Unless you'd rather wait while I look."

Coley shrugged. "I'll come with you."

"There's no need."

The two turned at the familiar, matter-of-fact voice. Jim and Arte were just approaching from around a corner. Arte looked relieved to have found Ray at last.

"Mr. Norman!" he declared. "You've been terribly elusive for the last hour."

"I'm sorry," Ray said. "Why don't you get something to eat? Mr. Rodman and I are going to. Then I'll talk with you about transportation."

"Why don't we all eat together and talk at the same time?" Jim returned.

Ray and Coley exchanged a look. Coley shrugged.

"Fine," Ray said at last. He opened the door again. "We can eat in here."

The others followed him in and to a table near the window. Coley grabbed a menu. Jim and Arte did likewise. Once they had decided on their choices, and Ray had placed their orders, Jim leaned forward and laced his fingers on the table.

"Now, about that transportation." He looked to Ray. "What can you suggest?"

"There aren't too many things I can suggest, Mr. West," Ray replied. "Most of the transportation here is unfamiliar to you and you either couldn't control it without a license or you wouldn't have the freedom to use it as you chose."

"Including horses?" Arte exclaimed.

"I'm afraid so," Ray nodded. "There aren't many horses in downtown Los Angeles. The cab is probably your best bet."

Arte leaned back in dismay. "It's so expensive, though. Especially if we use it for hours."

"I know," Ray sighed. "And I don't have any money to spare that could help you on that front. I'm sorry."

Arte jerked up. "Say," he exclaimed. "What about those bicycles? We saw people riding them up and down the streets. Do you need a license for them?"

"No," Ray said slowly in surprise. "But do you know how to ride them?"

Arte shrugged. "I tried the velocipede a few times. The bicycle seems quite similar, if not improved and easier to ride."

Ray's expression was blank. "You tried the what?"

"Velocipede," Arte explained. "It was a German invention for faster travel."

Ray nodded, still not sure what he was talking about. "I see. Well, yes, you could try renting bicycles, I suppose. I'm sure it would be cheaper than a cab."

Jim and Arte exchanged a look. "Then we'll try it," Arte declared. "Now that that's solved, we can focus on lunch."

Coley smirked in amusement.

"What?" Arte looked to him. "Surely you're hungry yourself, Rodman."

"We all are," said Coley. "It's just entertaining to see you want to hurry and get everything else out of the way so you can think about food."

"Well." Arte shrugged. "What can I say? Nobody's perfect."

Jim looked down at the menu, gently amused himself.

xxxx

The canyons were ablaze, the red, orange, and yellow hues flashing against the arriving cab. The driver slammed on the brakes.

"This is as far as I go, Lady," he said to Lucrece. "And you can't get much closer on foot. The fire department's barricaded the place up ahead."

Pinto got out of the cab and held the door for Lucrece, who had been sitting in between him and Cyril. She emerged and looked back, regarding the driver calmly.

"We won't be long," she said. "Wait here for us."

The driver shrugged. "It's your dough."

Cyril blinked. "Dough?"

"Nevermind," Lucrece told him. "Show us where you saw Brutus."

Cyril scrambled to get out of the car. "Of course." But as he started to lead them over the grass, he could not help but gaze in utter and complete awe at the vicious fire ahead of them.

Pinto was amused, but watched Cyril with narrowed eyes. He had better not completely forget his purpose in the midst of being entranced. The farther they walked, the more Pinto was sure that Cyril simply could not contain his joy at being so close to the biggest fire he had ever seen.

"Pinto," Lucrece finally snapped in exasperation, "you saw Brutus too, didn't you?"

He nodded. Lucrece had been back to her usual self when he had gone to tell her about seeing Brutus on the television screen, and with that in need of being investigated, he had not broached the subject of their encounter late last night. Maybe there would not be a good time to try that for a while yet. He wanted to make sure Lucrece was in the best mood possible when he said anything to the effect of whether or not she actually might care for him.

"You show us where he was," Lucrece ordered.

Pinto smiled and touched the brim of his hat before going past both her and Cyril.

He nearly ran into a very displeased fire chief who was just placing some sort of communication device on his belt.

"What are you people doing up here?" the man exclaimed.

Lucrece hurried to get in the lead. "We're looking for an associate of ours," she said. "We know for a fact that he was here not more than a few moments ago."

The chief, whose nameplate read _McConnike_, frowned in concern. "We'll find him, Miss," he said. "I'm sorry, but I can't let any of you go beyond this point. It's too dangerous."

"That is what makes the fire so beautiful," Cyril exclaimed.

Both Lucrece and Pinto shot him a Look. This was certainly not the time for that, especially in front of a man who fought fire for a living.

McConnike's eyebrows knitted farther. But before he could say whatever was on his mind, a new voice interrupted him.

"Ah! Miss Posey. It is good to see you again. And Little Pinto and Cyril as well."

Brutus strolled out from among the trees, calm and cool and smooth. Lucrece's tense muscles relaxed.

"So here you are, Brutus. Come, we have to leave."

"Of course." Brutus smiled, and, nodding to Chief McConnike, strolled past and down the hill.

McConnike sighed in both weariness and relief. "I'm glad your friend is safe. But what was he doing up here anyway?"

"Looking for us," Lucrece replied. "Thank you for your time." She gave him a charming smile, the kind that had disarmed many an unsuspecting man in the past.

McConnike smiled back. "Not at all. Just, please, get yourselves out of here before the fire spreads any more."

"Consider us gone." Lucrece turned to leave, but frowned in disapproval at Cyril's awestruck state. Pinto grabbed him by the shoulders, physically turning him to face the opposite direction.

"But it is so much more incredible up close like this!" Cyril protested.

Pinto patted his shoulder. "We didn't come up here to look at the fire, Cyril," he said. "Let's get out of here before we cause any more of an uproar."

Brutus glanced to them. "I found myself in these mountains the night before last," he said. "When I couldn't get down because of the fire, I was sure you would be along eventually."

"We saw you on the news coverage of the fire," Lucrece informed him flatly.

"News coverage?" Brutus blinked in confusion.

"We'll explain later," Lucrece said. "Meanwhile, whatever you see or hear, don't question it if we don't. We're not in our own time anymore and we don't want anyone to know we don't belong here."

Brutus looked slightly surprised, but nodded. "I rather suspected something strange when I observed the firefighters' transportation and saw the noisy flying contraption overhead," he said.

As they arrived at the cab, Pinto opened the door and first Cyril, then Lucrece, got in. After taking in the set-up, Brutus got into the front passenger seat.

The driver looked over with a start. "Hey, where did you come from?" he gasped.

"From up there," Brutus replied, pointing to the hill.

"Nevermind about him. Take us back to the city, please." Lucrece pulled the seatbelt down.

Seeing everyone else doing likewise, Brutus followed suit. He was good at following Miss Posey's orders. He would do his best to blend in until she told him different.

Shrugging, the driver started the engine and put the cab in reverse. "I'm just saying, a fire is a weird place to go to pick someone up."

No one answered him. He frowned, giving an exaggerated shiver. "Tough crowd."

Lucrece regarded him coolly and leaned back for the ride.

She glanced to Pinto, sitting next to her, as they drove off. He was not currently looking her way, and she averted her gaze before he could feel her eyes on him.

She could not explain her behavior from the prior night. Nor could she explain how and why she felt as she did both now and when he had held her close. It was a strange feeling, foreign to her. She had not even realized that she felt as she did until Pinto was alive once more and everything changed.

When he had been dead, she had been numb and closed-off, frozen and detached from the world. Now that he was back, it was as though he was not the only one who was alive again. She felt like she was alive again too, after a long and strange absence.

Could she ever tell him? Could she ever even manage to accept that her feelings were there and were real? Last night so many emotions had overflowed, confusing her, upsetting her, and insisting on being given a voice. She had rebelled, the result being her snapping at him.

But she _had_ been angry at him, hadn't she? Angry at him for dying? For leaving her?

Or had she just been angry and grief-stricken to be left without him, not to mention angry at feeling that way in the first place? She wasn't supposed to. Love and caring were for the weak. And she was not weak.

Or was she really? For all of her harsh, tough behavior, was she just the same as all the others, deep down?

Did she think Pinto was weak?

No, but she felt his love for her was his weakness.

She glanced at him a second time. She did not want anything to happen to him again. She wanted him to stay here with her, alive and well. He was the best second-in-command she had ever worked with, but that was not what she was thinking about.

This time he felt her looking at him. He turned, meeting her gaze. His eyes were filled with questions. Hers held no answers.

Perhaps later, when they talked alone again.

Perhaps.

xxxx

Coley wandered to the front of the building, mostly following Ray. At the receptionist's desk was another screen, similar to the one on the laptop device, but attached to a much larger machine. He paused by the desk to peer at it.

Ray glanced back. "That's a desktop computer," he said. "Unlike laptops, they're not portable."

"I can see why," Coley grunted, poking the hard drive. "But do they work the same other than that?"

"Basically," Ray nodded. "I haven't forgotten I promised to show you the Internet today."

Jim and Arte had left in a cab, in search of a bicycle rental store. And with the majority of the club's guests on the golfing green, Ray and Coley mostly had the building to themselves for the time being. That suited Coley just fine. And Ray was pleased for the chance to help his still-recovering guest learn more about the present-day world.

"Pull up a chair," Ray invited. "I'll show you a few thing on this computer."

Coley was interested and willing. He brought a nearby chair over to watch and study Ray's actions. He listened to the explanations and watched the demonstrations of the Internet, intrigued. When Ray offered to let him try, he operated the websites slowly and carefully enough so as to make as few mistakes as possible.

"You're doing wonderfully," Ray told him presently. "We'll have to work on getting you more familiar with the keyboard, but basically I think you've more than got the hang of this."

"It's not so hard," Coley said. "It's just bizarre to think that people on the other side of the world can read what I'm pecking out right now. Gordon would have a heyday with it."

"He would, wouldn't he," Ray nodded. "If he and Mr. West stick around for a while, he'll probably want to know how it works too."

"And will you be giving him private lessons too?" Coley returned.

Ray shrugged. "I'll help him on his way, if it's possible. He and Mr. West will probably be leaving when they find a way out of this time. Maybe even today."

He looked to Coley as he said this, questioning, worried. There was not much time for a decision to be made, when he thought of it that way. And without having had enough time to get used to this time period, maybe Coley would decide to go with them after all. His own time would certainly be more familiar to him than anything else.

But Coley shrugged, staring into the computer screen. He did not seem inclined to reply. Maybe he was not even sure of his answer.

". . . Have you figured out what you want to do?" Ray asked at last, slowly and with hesitance.

"There hasn't been enough time," Coley said. "You've been looking after me, and don't think I'm not grateful, but I wouldn't be hanging around here because of that."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Ray told him.

Coley looked back to the computer, tapping out a sentence in the Compose New Message section of Ray's email program. He clicked the Send button. "So this will come right back to you?"

Ray nodded. "Look, it's already in." He pointed to where the email count in the Inbox had gone up by one.

Coley clicked on the Inbox link. "You're right; there it is." He shook his head. "Things would be a lot different in my time if we had things like this."

"I can imagine," Ray said.

Without warning Jane leaped onto the desk and promptly laid on the keyboard. Coley rocked back. "What the . . . what's the matter with this cat? You said she was well-behaved!"

Ray burst out laughing. "I told you she might try to get your attention in strange ways. She's jealous of all computers when we pay attention to them instead of to her."

Coley muttered in frustration and reached to lift her off the keyboard. She went limp in his arms, purring, her tail swishing up around his wrist.

"If you set her down, she'll jump right back up again," Ray said. "She's done it to me in my office."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Coley retorted. "Just let her use the keyboard for a bed?"

"She'll usually be content if you set her on your lap," Ray said.

Muttering more, Coley finally complied. Jane purred louder and stretched out, blissful.

"Living with a cat is a strange thing," Ray said. "They want their own way."

"So do I," Coley grumbled.

"The cat usually wins," said Ray.

The sound of the door being jerked open brought them both to attention. A brown-haired man with a dark, unforgiving look in his eyes stood in the doorway. Behind him were several reporters with notepads and pens and recorders ready.

Coley stared at the lot of them. Before he could demand an explanation Ray had shot to his feet, staring at the man in the lead. "Jason Everly," he gasped.

Coley looked to him. "Who?" He stood as well, unintentionally displacing Jane in his bewilderment and surprise. She yowled in protest.

"Why don't you tell him, Ray?" Jason said as he moved darkly and deliberately into the room. "Tell him how you ruined my life along with so many others."

"Oh, so you're one of his blackmail victims," Coley realized.

The briefest hint of surprise flickered in Jason's eyes. "So you _do_ know. I guess the gossip travels fast."

"He told me himself." Coley looked from him to the reporters. "What do you want?"

"He wants to drag me down with him," Ray said, his tone flat and serious. "And I don't deny that I ruined his life. It was back East, the first time I ran my blackmail racket." He looked to Jason. "But what do you think you're going to accomplish by coming here and bringing these reporters with you?"

It seemed impossible for Jason's eyes to narrow any farther than they already had, but he managed it. "They told me you haven't been letting them in when all they want is a story. I said I'd arrange it for them." They were already furiously writing.

"A story?" Coley came around the desk, incredulous and angry. "About what? Norman's paid his debt. All he wants now is to stay here in peace. And you want him to be a sideshow attraction for every one of these vultures!"

The reporters looked up at him and promptly began talking at once.

"Who are you?"

"What's your connection with Mr. Norman?"

"Why are you defending him?"

"Are you a hired bodyguard?"

"Were you tortured by Dr. Portman too?"

"Were you dead, like Mr. Norman was?"

"Stop it!" Ray stepped forward, his eyes flashing. "I'll say what I've said before—I will only conduct interviews about the Oak Bridge Golf Club. My personal life, as well as that of my guests', is off-limits." He reached for a button on the desk's console. "Now I'm calling security. And starting now, you'll have exactly one minute to leave this building before you're escorted out at gunpoint."

Jason's lip curled. "They'll leave, Ray. So will I. But we'll all be back. You know that." He started to turn away, then paused. "You know, it was strange hearing you laugh before we came in. You almost sounded like a decent human being."

"Get out," Coley snarled. He took a step forward.

The reporters began to back out the door. Jason lingered. "You never did answer their questions," he said. "And legitimate queries they are, too. You don't act like one of Ray's guests. He's smooth and polite with his guests, keeping them at arm's length. But he's relaxed and friendly around you. You're something else."

"It's none of your business," Coley retorted. "You won't get anything out of me."

Jason shrugged. "If that's the way you want it." Seeing the arriving security guards, he turned and left as well. "But I'll settle the score with Ray someday. And if you're in the way, well, you'll get taken down too."

Ray glowered at the other man's retreating back. "See that those people are escorted off the property," he ordered the guards. "And don't let them back in. Especially that man."

The guards nodded and hastened outside to carry out Ray's orders.

Coley clenched a fist. "If I'd had my gun, I'd have got them out of here even faster than it took the guards to get here," he declared.

Ray shook his head. "Oh, people would wonder who you are all the more if they saw you packing a gun. Not to mention a kind of gun that hasn't been in production since 1874." He turned away, restless, beginning to pace the room like a caged animal.

"Alright, you're probably right about that," Coley conceded. "But they needed a good scare."

Ray sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I can't really blame Jason for hating me," he said. "I blackmailed him so badly that he turned to gambling out of desperation to collect the money I demanded from him. His wife left him, taking their kids with her. He hardly ever sees them. He lost his job, too." He turned back to Coley, his eyes filled with anguish. "Don't you understand, Rodman? I really did ruin that man's life! And he's not the only one." He started to pace again. "There are others, with every bit as much reason to hate me as Jason does. Some of them do. But some of them are trying to put their broken lives back together."

"While Everly would rather tear your patched-up life all apart," Coley finished.

"Yes." Ray ran a hand into his hair. Something was clearly bothering him, something he wasn't saying.

Coley frowned. "What else is wrong?"

"Rodman, I have to ask. Do you regret what you've done?"

Coley rocked back. "What?"

Ray turned to face him, his eyes wild, agonized. "You said you didn't mind shooting a man. When you were delirious, you said you'd said that to Dr. Kirby. You wouldn't completely decimate towns and cities, but do you have any idea of the damage that just one bullet can cause? One life lost?"

Coley's eyes darkened. "You have no right to ask me that."

"Who has more right?" Ray countered. "I know who you are, _what_ you are. I know where you come from. I'm your one link to the present-day world. Without me, you have no allies here, except Mr. West and Mr. Gordon. And they don't know this world any better than you do."

Coley stepped closer to him. "And you could drop me like a hot rock if you feel like it. Is that what you're saying?"

Regret and guilt swept over Ray's face. He backed up, shaking his head. "No. No, that isn't what I meant. I knew what you were when I took you in. Rodman, I . . . I'm sorry." He swallowed hard. "It's just that I . . . I feel so horrible to think of all the lives I dragged into the mud. It _haunts_ me. Maybe . . . maybe that's the real reason I still have nightmares sometimes; I feel like what Portman did to me was justified and no less than what I deserved."

Coley frowned. "What she did to you could never be justified," he said. "If you think that, maybe deep down you're thinking that she was doing what God wanted. If you believe in God."

Ray stiffened. "No."

"You don't believe in God?"

"No, I do. I mean, no, that isn't what I'm thinking."

"Are you sure?"

Ray opened his mouth to respond, then slowly shook his head. "Maybe I'm not sure of anything right now."

Coley moved back. "Maybe you're not."

Ray turned to face him. "Rodman, please," he begged. "Please don't go."

"I'm not leaving the club," Coley answered. "But I think we could both use some time to cool down and think." He turned to head down the hall.

Ray stared after him, wanting to call him back but not knowing what to say. At last he turned away.

"I don't know what to do," he said aloud. "I don't know what to say."

Jane, looking up at him, meowed.

He looked to her. "What do you think I should do?"

She rubbed against his legs, trying to comfort him. He sighed, sinking into a chair and lifting her into his arms.

"What have I gotten us into, Jane?" he whispered.

She purred, nuzzling his face.

"You like him, don't you?" Ray sighed. "I do too. I know what I thought of him when I heard him talking in his delirium. And I've liked talking with him since then.

"He was protective of me a few minutes ago too, wasn't he. I didn't even thank him for that." Ray covered his face with a hand. "I'm terrible at actually communicating with people. I've held them at arms' length for so long I think I've forgotten how to do much of anything else."

Jane merowed, as if to say, _"You sell yourself short!"_

Ray sighed, holding her close.

He needed to get up and go apologize. He would.

But for a few minutes longer he would stay here and think, as Coley had suggested.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

When Ray and Coley met again, each was on his way to see the other. They stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Rodman, I'm sorry," Ray immediately blurted. He sighed. "I was so caught up feeling overwhelmed that I didn't even thank you for standing up for me in front of Everly and those reporters." He shook his head. "I wouldn't blame you if you feel like I wasn't worth standing up for, after that."

"I don't think that," Coley responded. "And if you want the answers to your questions, I'll give them to you. Maybe it won't be what you want to hear, but it'll be the truth."

Ray nodded slowly. "I want to know," he said, "but only if you don't mind telling me."

Coley gave him a long look. "I don't mind. But let's go somewhere more private."

Ray was in complete agreement. He led Coley to the back lounge, where he had first brought the time-traveler upon his arrival. After closing and locking the door, he sat down on the couch. Coley stood.

". . . There's three kinds of gunfighters," he said after a moment of silence. "There's the kind that only does jobs for lawmen and other people basically classed as 'good'. There's the kind that only does jobs for people thought of as 'bad'. And there's those who really aren't choosey one way or another. They could take a job from a sheriff one day and gun the same sheriff down the next day, depending on who pays the most.

"My father was the third kind. As far back as I can remember, there was always a gun in the house. My mother hated it. She was always begging him to quit. He always said it was the only thing he could do well and that we needed the money." Coley's eyes narrowed. "But it was more than that. And that was the biggest problem. See, he _liked_ killing. He was paid enough for his jobs that we really didn't _need_ more money. He just wanted the thrill of stalking his prey and pulling the trigger when he caught up."

Ray shivered, stunned. "When I heard you calling for your father, and you didn't want to explain, I had no idea."

"Yeah, about that." Coley gazed into the distance out the window. "He got himself shot one night trying to gun down a sheriff. He stumbled back home and collapsed on the floor, bleeding all over it. I ran over and fell down next to him, calling to him. I saw him die."

Ray stiffened in disbelief. "I . . . I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

Coley nodded. "At least you aren't trying to tell me you know how it felt. No one could know. But there's the answer to one of your questions. I know the damage one bullet, one life lost, can cause."

Ray was sickened. "I never should have said that. You were right—I had no right."

Coley shrugged, crossing the room to stand by the window. "My mother made me promise I'd never be a gunfighter. And that was fine with me; I never wanted to be. I saw how much my father liked killing. He scared me half to death with that wild look in his eyes and that crazy grin. I didn't want to be like that.

"The money he'd made kept us going for a while. My mother went to work when that started running low. She couldn't get anything except a few cleaning jobs. I tried to find work, but no one would hire me. Everyone knew what my father had been, and that followed us around even when we tried to move."

He sighed. "When I took up robbing, it was because it was the only way I could get money. But I started liking it. I didn't ever go off the deep end like my father did with killing, but I liked the thrill of collecting the loot and counting it."

He looked back to Ray. "I used my gun only if I had to. Most of the time it was in fair fights. But I did kill or order the killing of some people who were a danger to me and the gang in other ways. And I'm not saying I liked it. You're right that I said I didn't mind shooting a man, but in a me-or-him set-up, I had to force myself not to mind. I killed to survive and only to survive. That never changed. Maybe it doesn't make it right, either, but I only did it when I had to. And I never went around gunning people down to make a living.

"I really liked Kirby's original germ, the one that only paralyzed people for a couple of days. We could get in and out of towns without anybody getting killed. And the gang liked it too. Oh, they didn't really care what happened to the townspeople, but they liked not having to risk getting shot themselves."

Ray frowned. "I remember you mentioned one gang member who wanted to shoot the paralyzed townspeople down for no reason at all."

"Frank," Coley nodded. "I never liked him, or he me. He was only in the gang for kicks and seemed to think that's how I ran things. He didn't get that for me, it was business. I knew he was going to be trouble; it was just a matter of time.

"Maybe it was because I wouldn't let him kill those people that he decided to go into business for himself. Or maybe he'd been planning it for a while. I wouldn't put either choice past him. But when we realized he was keeping the big bills from the Exchange office for himself, I slapped him around and he tried to shoot me. I got him first."

"And then later the same thing happened with Kirby," Ray remembered. "He tried to shoot you first, I mean."

"Yeah." Coley came back to the furniture and sat on a couch across from Ray. "It was like that a lot of times. It hardly ever got told like it was, though."

"You mean the stories got embellished and people thought you'd done things a lot worse than you did," Ray deduced.

"That's right. And then after the Kirby mess, everyone thought I'd condoned his other germ, the one that could wipe out towns and cities. Kirby's daughter Anna was telling it all around. Of course, everyone would believe her over me. I knew if I hadn't already done enough to get myself hanged, that right there would make sure of it. And shooting Kirby, too. West and Gordon believed I'd done it in cold blood.

"So I went on the run. And I've been running until just a few days ago, when I got mixed up in this Dr. Faustina case. I just can't seem to get away from crazy docs.

"I told Gordon that I wanted to turn my life around. And wherever I live now, that's the truth. I'm sick of running."

Ray nodded. "You did say things like that in your delirium," he said.

Coley looked irritated. "I must have said just about everything under the sun, except about my father."

"There's probably a lot of other things you didn't say, too," Ray tried to assure him. "I was foolish to think I knew you so well from what I'd heard. It takes years to really get to know someone. And usually they can still surprise you."

Coley considered that and nodded, trying to relax. He took off his hat and set it on the low table in between the couches. "You also asked if I regretted what I'd done. Let's say I regret having to do it, in some cases. But in others . . . well, you can't convince me the world isn't better without people like Frank and Kirby running around. The only problem is, there's always two of each trigger-happy nutcase to replace every one who goes down."

Ray sighed sadly and nodded. "That's unfortunately true."

"So that's the whole explanation." Coley looked steadily at Ray. "You can accept it or not. And if you want me to leave, I will."

"No." Ray's answer was instantaneous. "I would never ask you to leave. It wasn't in my mind before and it isn't now." He crossed the distance between them and sat on the other couch. "I accept your explanation. I can't even say I don't agree with some of it. I do, especially that the world would be better without mad scientists. Maybe they shouldn't be gunned down, but I'm not bothered that you killed Kirby, especially considering the way it actually happened. You couldn't have done anything else. And even before now, all I really wanted to say to you was to please stay.

"And also . . ." He looked down. "You started me thinking. Maybe I haven't quite thought that God wanted Portman to do what she did to me, but I realized that I've been thinking He didn't stop it because I was supposed to suffer, to pay for my wrongdoings. Maybe I was; I don't know. A nun told me that maybe it happened because I wouldn't have learned compassion any other way. That thought horrified me. I couldn't bear believing that I was so far gone that it would take being driven out of my mind to find myself."

"And you haven't been able to stop thinking about that since then," Coley said.

Ray nodded. "I haven't."

Coley thought for a moment. "One thing I've learned all too well is that the past can't be changed. All we've got is the present and the future. And I'd say you've been doing pretty good for yourself on changing those. Maybe you ruined Everly's life, sure, but it's his choice to come after you. He could fix up his own life if he wasn't so bent on wrecking yours."

Ray sighed. "You're right, of course. I've tried to reason with him, but it doesn't do any good. His heart is blackened with hate. And I still can't blame him."

Coley shrugged. "Maybe not. But at least you're not lying down for him to kick. You're fighting back. So you must figure that you don't deserve whatever he might do to you."

"Or maybe it's that, even if I feel I deserve it, my will to live is much stronger than those feelings of guilt." Ray shook his head. "The doctors at the sanitarium were amazed by my will to live. They said other than the grace of God, it was the only thing that could have sustained both my life and my sanity during those two years."

"I believe it." Coley sat up straight and turned to look at Ray. "So, where do we go from here?"

"From here?" Ray considered his response. "I never did finish showing you the desktop computer. Mabel is back at her desk now, but there's other desktops in the library. And then it will be evening soon and time to eat again.

"I want you to stay as long as you want to. If you decide to go back with Mr. West and Mr. Gordon, that's fine . . . if you're sure that now you'll be treated fairly by the courts. I don't want to think that you'll go back and end up killed or behind bars for life, and I know you don't either. And . . . well, I hope you'll keep considering that maybe you'll make this time your home instead."

"I'm still considering it," Coley said.

Ray smiled. "Good."

"Although I still don't know why you took such a big interest in me, of all people. Is it really just your way of making up for not caring about anyone in the past?"

Ray drew a deep breath. "No, it isn't," he said then. "If it's time for confessions, I guess I should make mine, too.

"I've been lonely, Rodman. Oh, there's people all around, but no one who really understands me. I wanted to find someone who could relate to being tortured. Maybe even to walking on the shady side of things and wanting to do different now."

". . . And then I ended up on your doorstep."

"Yes." Ray shook his head. "To be perfectly honest, I wanted a friend. That's why I didn't feel comfortable telling you why I wanted you to stay. It sounds ridiculous! I know friends can't be made instantaneously over a common interest or knowledge. Well, kids do that all the time, but adults know that deep friendships have to grow and develop naturally over an extended period of time."

Coley regarded Ray in surprise. "I never expected that explanation."

"I didn't think you would." Ray half-smirked. "Does it sound as nonsensical to you as it does to me?"

"I don't know about that," Coley grunted. "You're right about friends having to bond over time, but they have to start somewhere, too." He leaned back. "I haven't had any friends—real friends—in a long time."

"I think Mr. Gordon considers you a friend."

"Maybe," Coley mused. "But if you want to try working on a friendship, I think I'm up for it."

Ray stared at him in amazement and disbelief. "You mean that?"

"Yeah." Coley held out a hand. "I'm pretty sure I can trust you, more sure than I've been about a lot of things lately."

Ray grasped Coley's hand in his. "You can," he vowed. "And I'm sure I can trust you too."

"Well, that's a start."

They shook hands.

xxxx

"These bicycles certainly are an interesting invention."

Jim looked to Arte as he fell onto the park grass, bike in tow, for about the third time. "If you can stay on it long enough to find out," he intoned.

"Oh, very funny," Arte grunted. He tried to untangle himself from the metal frame. "You haven't been doing much better."

Jim shrugged. "I'm used to a horse. You're the one who said you rode the velocipede."

"Well, I did," Arte grumped. He sat on the grass, his arms draped on his knees. "But that was a long time ago."

Jim smiled and got back on his own bike. They had brought them here after renting them, hoping to get more familiar with how to work them before starting out on their search for the portal. And they were improving. But it was taking too long to figure them out. The search might have to start tomorrow instead of today.

"I wonder how long it takes to get a license for one of those automobiles," Arte mused as he got to his feet and steadied the bike. "That's what I'd really like."

"I guess it might depend on how quick you could learn to drive it," said Jim. "It would be nice, though. We'd probably cover a lot more territory than we will with these bicycles."

"Exactly. And it's probably a lot harder to fall off an automobile." Arte mounted the bicycle and took off down the path. This time he did not topple over. "Hey!" he called. "I think maybe I've got it now."

"Good," Jim called back. He started after Arte, balancing as best as he could and managing to succeed for the most part.

He nearly fell off again when he caught sight of a man standing nearby, watching them as he ate a sandwich. "Arte!" he called, pushing the pedal backwards and dragging the bike to a stop.

"What is it?" Arte called back from up ahead. But then he saw as well. "Holy Mackerel!" He also stopped. "What are you doing here, Sergei?"

Sergei kept eating. "I want to know where Miss Posey and the others are," he said.

"So do we," Jim replied.

"Not to mention a little matter of the portal leading home," Arte added.

"I do not know of any portal," Sergei shrugged.

Jim sighed. "We can't really arrest you in this time; it wouldn't stick. Maybe the most logical thing to do right now would be to stay together, since we're from the same time."

"I will look on my own," Sergei answered.

"Suit yourself," Arte said. "But if we find the portal first, and fall through, you won't know anything about it."

"I will not leave without the others." Sergei peered at them, suspicion heavy in his eyes. "You are sure you don't know where they are?"

"We don't know," Jim insisted.

"The most we can tell you is that one of your friends had a heyday torturing Coley Rodman," Arte said darkly.

Sergei calmly took a bite of sandwich. "He is dead?"

"No," Jim said. "He's getting better."

"It happened out near the warehouse district," Arte said. "If you happen to run across Little Pinto, you might tell him for us that we're not too pleased with what he did."

"Why do you care?" Sergei shot back. "Rodman is your enemy too."

"Actually, no, he isn't," Arte said. "Not anymore. But that's neither here nor there. We don't appreciate anyone being tortured."

Sergei shrugged. "I will tell him." He started to walk past. "First I will find this warehouse district."

"Just follow the smell of the ocean," Arte said.

He and Jim watched him start off, leaning on the handles of their bicycles. "I wonder, Jim—should we really let him go?" Arte frowned.

"What can we do, Arte?" Jim answered. "We can't arrest him. And we can't really drag him around with us. I'm not crazy about the thought of taking him back to the golf club with us, either."

"Oh boy, me neither," Arte shuddered. "Not with Rodman there. Who knows how tight-knit these guys are? Maybe Sergei would decide to try to take Rodman back to Pinto."

"And even if he didn't, it wouldn't help Rodman's recovery any, to have one of Pinto's cronies hanging around."

Arte nodded. "You're right. Mr. Norman might not even let him stay in the first place. Well, I guess we'll just have to work on rounding everybody up _after_ we find the portal."

"If there's a portal to find," Jim returned.

Arte sighed. "Yes, there's that."

He looked towards the direction of the piers, far in the distance. "You know, Jim, I never really thought about how far Rodman must have walked when he got away from Pinto." He frowned. "I mean, the golf club is up by the mountains. How did he possibly go that far, on foot, after being tortured half to death for two weeks?"

Jim frowned too. "Either he's got some of the best endurance I've ever seen . . . or there's some warehouses closer than the ocean."

"Which there might be," Arte nodded. "We may have just sent poor Sergei on a wild goose chase."

"Just as well. There'd be less chance of him running into Rodman by accident." Jim kicked the pedal forward. "Let's see what we can do about breaking in these bicycles."

"You're on," Arte smiled.

They took off down the path.

xxxx

Snakes was not sure what he expected to find if he ever ran across Flo. It had long ago started to seem unlikely that he would find her at all. He was weary of searching through cheap dives and dark nightclubs, asking about her, only to be met either with bewilderment or uncommunicative concern. If anyone knew where Flo was, they did not seem to want him to locate her.

Gallito was weary of shadowing him. He was convinced it was important, but he was not convinced that anything would come of it any time soon.

Now Snakes was wandering through a more high-class but eclectic nightclub that proclaimed itself one of the few holdouts from the 1940s. It also claimed that it still operated in the style and clothing of that period. Snakes and Gallito really had no idea how accurate that description was; they only knew that the staff's hair and clothes and the music were quite different from what they had heard in the other joints today.

A black-gloved hand suddenly reached out from a nearby corner booth, beckoning to Snakes. He blinked and looked over in surprise. The perfectly manicured hand belonged to a woman with short-cropped red-blonde hair and sharp, assertive green eyes. "You're Mr. Tolliver, aren't you?" she greeted.

Stunned, Snakes went to her table. Gallito slipped in at the one next to hers, pulling the curtain around the table to conceal his position.

"Lady, how do you know my name?" Snakes demanded. "I haven't told anyone."

"You haven't told anyone _here._ But you introduced yourself at more than one location today." The woman laid her hands on the table, calm, unconcerned. "Trust me; I know."

"Obviously you do. But who are you?" Snakes went closer to the table. "You remind me of someone else I know."

"A friend?"

". . . Let's just say a former employer."

She shrugged. "Did she let you go or did you decide to strike out on your own?"

"I guess you could say some of both. But look here." Snakes leaned on the table with both hands, frowning. "Why are you asking the questions? It seems like I should be doing the asking."

"On the contrary, especially when you've been asking for me all day."

Snakes' eyes went wide. "_You're_ Flo?!"

She nodded. "Once it came to my attention that you were looking for me, I had some of my men direct you to this club. My organization owns it." She gestured to the table. "Sit down, won't you?"

Snakes did so. "What organization is this?" he wondered. "I thought you were working on your own."

"My organization is F.O.W.L., the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny." Flo spoke flatly and then smirked. "So I suggest that you don't do anything foolish. Tell me why you've been turning this city upside-down looking for me."

Snakes had no idea what this F.O.W.L. was, but he had the feeling that Flo was intimating that she had all manner of thugs at her beck and call. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the table. "Okay. But I need to ask you this first. Do you believe that time travel is real?"

"I really couldn't say," Flo replied. "Our scientists have been investigating the possibilities for some time, without arriving at any solid answers."

"Well, I'm the living proof that it's real," Snakes declared. "I'm not from this time."

Flo seemed to be considering this statement. She nodded, leaning back in her chair. "That will be easy enough to check," she said. "Supposing it's true, what do you have to offer me?"

"A proposal . . . maybe a partnership, of sorts." Snakes' eyes glimmered. "I came through a portal, along with my former boss and her crew. They're out to get me. If you give me protection while I figure out how to get them out of the way, I'll take you through time in the portal."

In the next booth, Gallito stiffened and muttered in Spanish. Of course Snakes was not likely to tell _why_ they were after him. And if this Flo agreed to his terms, who knew how many assassins she might be able to send to kill Miss Posey and the rest.

Flo mulled over the information and the offer as she stirred the cup of hot chocolate in front of her. "Why don't you just go back through the portal and leave the others here?" she said.

"Well . . . with them ready to kill me, I can't go to the portal all by myself. They'd never let me get to it."

"I see." Flo set down the spoon and sipped from the cup. "But tell me this, Mr. Tolliver. You look like you're from the past. I assume this portal only goes to the past. F.O.W.L. is interested in the future. How would your portal benefit either me or my organization?"

Snakes smiled. "If your scientists are really good, maybe they'd be able to study the thing and figure out how to make it do whatever they want it to."

Flo nodded. "Possible." She paused. "But here I must ask. Mr. Tolliver, if your former boss is a smart woman, she wouldn't discard worthy help for no particular reason. Why is she out for your blood?"

Gallito tensed and leaned back farther to catch Snakes' low words.

"She said she wanted worthy help, but she and I never got along," Snakes said. "Finally she just up and fired me. And since I knew too much about the workings of _her_ organization, she decided I had to go in every way possible. She and her men have been after me ever since. I got cornered on the street by two of them yesterday. They would've tried to kill me if we hadn't collected a crowd."

Flo nodded. "You could be telling the truth," she said.

Snakes shot upright. "Could be?!" he exclaimed. "What do I have to do to get you to believe me?"

"I suppose there's nothing much you could do, Mr. Tolliver," Flo replied. "But if you take me to this portal and I can see you're telling the truth about that, I might believe you about the rest."

Snakes flushed, shifting in discomfort. "Sure thing. I'd be happy to. The only problem is . . . well . . . when we ended up here, we got spread out all over the place. I don't know exactly where the portal is. I know it has to be there!" he rushed on. "But 'there' could probably be anywhere in Los Angeles."

"Or nowhere at all," Flo said boredly.

"It's there!" Snakes insisted. "You have to believe me; it's there."

Flo replaced the cup in the saucer. "Here's what I'll do, Mr. Tolliver. I'll have my men run a check on you. If what you've told me is true, I'll talk to my superiors about your proposal."

Snakes rocked back. "I thought you ran this F.O.W.L. thing," he exclaimed.

She smiled. "I will, one day. I'm the ambitious sort."

Snakes smirked. "Then I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

Gallito frowned deeply. He had just been about to get up and call Snakes' bluff, to tell Flo why they were really after him. Now he wondered if it would do any good. What if Flo was the type who would support and even be entertained by Snakes trying to kill Miss Posey with an explosive-laden gavel? What if she would order her men to take Gallito prisoner?

Maybe the best thing to do would be to bide his time and wait a little longer, just until Flo found out from her own men that Snakes had lied. Then, depending on her reaction, Gallito could decide what to do.

And if she decided to align herself with Snakes in spite of the truth, then Gallito and the rest were going to have a very large problem.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

It was only when they were back at the house and Brutus was examining the television set with Cyril that Pinto felt the time was right to approach Lucrece.

She was standing in front of the window in the kitchen, gazing out at the modern street and houses, when Pinto came up from behind her. She knew he was there, and he was certain she knew it, so it wasn't really a surprise to either of them when she suddenly said, "What is it, Pinto?"

He stopped near her. "I have to know the answer to something," he said. "And I want the truth, Lucrece. Do you love me?"

She went stiff. "You know the answer to that already," she retorted.

"I thought I did," Pinto agreed. "But the Lucrece I remember wouldn't have fallen to pieces because I leaned on a chest of drawers."

"Good for her."

Pinto suddenly grabbed her upper arms, wanting to turn her to face him. She planted her feet and resisted.

"Lucrece . . . it's nothing to be afraid or ashamed of," he said. "I've never felt that way about it. And I'd say it hasn't wrecked my judgment any. I'm still the same old Pinto. Look what I did to Rodman."

"I'm not afraid or ashamed," Lucrece spat. "And I'm not you."

"I've known an awful lot of women in my time," Pinto mused. "And they always liked to fly off the handle when they were really trying to say how much they cared about something or someone. I never saw you do that in all the years we've known each other, except last night. Not to mention the way you hung onto me when you cooled down."

"And you think all of that means something?"

Pinto bent near her ear. "I think maybe, just maybe, you care about me more than you can say in so many words."

Lucrece flinched. "You're wrong. I warned you from the start not to delude yourself, that I was only agreeing to the relationship for amusement and satisfaction."

"And I never have tricked myself into thinking anything else. Then last night, it seemed like maybe I'd tricked myself into thinking something that wasn't real in another way." He gripped her arms. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I don't love you," Lucrece retorted.

"Now that's just too quick. And turn around and say it right to me." Again Pinto tried to steer her to face him.

This time she complied. For a long moment she just stood, staring at him, her lips parted but silent. After a while Pinto nodded, not surprised but quietly, joyously triumphant. "You can't say it, can't you?"

"Yes, I can," Lucrece snapped. But she averted her gaze.

Pinto held her close, kissing her forehead. "I guess it could take a long, long time before you can accept it, if it's real. I just hope there won't be any nasty little changes before then."

"Such as?"

"Such as me dying and staying dead. There's no telling what could happen, really, especially in a place like this. Seems to me there's a lot more ways people could die now."

Lucrece gripped a handful of his shirt. "I already told you, I don't want to think about or discuss your death, either in the past or the future." Her voice was that of a snarling lioness, but now Pinto could hear the agonized desperation under the growls.

"It's a part of life," Pinto said. "I'll have to go sometime."

"Not now!" Lucrece insisted. "Not anytime soon."

"Neither one of us would be able to do a thing about it," Pinto said.

"I would," Lucrece snarled.

"Lucrece, listen to yourself. Why does it bother you so bad if you don't love me, even just a bit?"

Lucrece fell silent. Pinto's question had shaken her. ". . . I don't want to look for a replacement for you," she said at last, quiet and pathetic.

"Does that sound as hollow to you as it does to me?" Pinto was also quiet.

"It's the truth." But even as she spoke, she closed her eyes in resignation. "It has to be; I don't want to be weak."

"Just loving me wouldn't make you weak."

"It would mean our enemies would have something they could use as leverage against us." Lucrece hesitated. "And they could hurt you."

"We'd figure that out if it happened."

"By then it might be too late. Don't forget that you were dead for three years." Lucrece spoke bitterly. "We're not indestructible."

Pinto sighed. "What do you want to do?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe, now that you're back, it's too late to do anything. I don't want to lose you again. I can't enable them to use that against us. But I'm not strong enough to keep you away from me, either. It's a hopeless tangle." She clenched her teeth. "I thought I was different from those foolish, pathetic women who cling to men in desperation, unable to bear losing them. Instead, I can't say that I am."

Pinto leaned in and kissed her. "You are different."

Lucrece returned it. "I don't know that I can ever believe that now."

"I'll keep trying to change your mind."

"I can believe _that._" Lucrece looked up at him. "You're nothing if not stubborn."

Pinto smirked. "So are you. The most stubborn woman I ever came across."

"I'm not sure whether to take that as a good thing or not."

"Kind of frustrating sometimes, kind of good other times. But you wouldn't be yourself without that stubborn streak."

They were unaware that Cyril and Brutus were now watching them instead of the television set. Brutus nodded to himself in thoughtfulness, while Cyril just stared.

"Miss Posey actually cares for him," Cyril exclaimed. "He isn't just a plaything, as we all thought!"

"I suspected something like this might happen once we were restored to life," Brutus mused.

Cyril regarded him in surprise. "You did? How?"

Brutus shrugged. "I suppose I saw something in Miss Posey that neither she nor Pinto seemed to notice until now. Something must have changed, for Pinto to catch on. And for Miss Posey to all but admit to the possibility.

"Come, Cyril. Let's leave them be." He directed his cohort away from the room.

xxxx

It was evening and dark by the time Jim and Arte returned to the Oak Bridge Golf Club, bicycles in tow. After leaving the bikes in a storage shed Ray had told them about, they headed for the main building.

A page of the evening newspaper had been crumpled into the trashcan near the side-door through which they entered. Catching sight of what looked like Ray's picture, Arte raised an eyebrow and reached for the page. "Well," he mused, "what have we here?"

Jim frowned at the write-up of the "fascinating" and "enlightening" visit to the golf club that day, and frowned even more at the mention of Ray's mysterious new bodyguard, "or whatever he was."

"It looks like the fourth estate came to call on Mr. Norman again today," he said.

"And bringing one of his former blackmail victims with them, hoping for a better story that way." Arte was in disbelief. "Can you fathom the gall of those people, Jim?"

"It doesn't sound like the press has changed much in 138 years," Jim noted.

"And now Rodman's got himself in the paper by ordering them out," Arte said. "Somehow I can't think that's a good thing."

"Especially not the way they're so interested in him now," Jim said. "I've got a feeling that this is only going to open up more scandal for Mr. Norman and throw Rodman into the spotlight too."

Arte nodded. "You are so right. We'd better find them."

Jim was in full agreement.

With it being suppertime, they opted to check the private dining rooms first. Opening the doors would prove a problem, since they were locked with cardkeys, but upon finding one with a curtain pulled over the window, the agents stopped and looked at each other in triumph.

"This is probably it," Arte said.

Jim nodded. "By now all the guests have probably seen that story and will be getting curious about Rodman. He and Mr. Norman would want to take every precaution they could to have a peaceful meal."

Arte knocked on the door. "Mr. Norman?" he called. "It's us."

After a moment the door was unlocked and slowly opened. "Come in," Ray said. "You're alone, aren't you?"

"Oh yes," Arte nodded. "Very much alone."

"I don't think your guests know about us yet," Jim added.

"I hope not." Ray watched as they slipped into the room. He shut and locked the door after them.

Coley looked up from the table. "So how did those bicycles work out?"

"Not too badly," Arte replied. He could not tell whether Coley was truly interested or if he just wanted to direct conversation to something other than the afternoon's commotion.

"But I take it you didn't find any portal," Ray said slowly, a bit tense.

"No portal," Jim said. "We spent the day making sure we knew how to operate the bicycles effectively. We'll start the search tomorrow."

"Oh, and we saw Sergei in the park," Arte said as he slid in at the table. "He doesn't seem to know where the others are."

Coley raised an eyebrow. "You just let him go?"

"Just like with you, we don't have any authority to arrest Sergei here," Jim said. "And we wouldn't have known what to do with him if we had."

"I wouldn't want him here," Ray admitted.

"Yes, we figured. And we don't blame you." Arte picked up the menu. "But then again, the worst thing he may have done would have been to have cleaned out your kitchen."

"Or play with the knives," Jim intoned.

"And it sounds like you had plenty of excitement around here without any of that." Arte looked from Ray to Coley in a pointed manner.

Coley scowled and Ray sighed.

"Ever since I was rescued from Dr. Portman and they realized who I was, I became hot news," Ray said. "The papers called me a modern-day Lazarus. The only thing was, instead of being revived by the Son of God, I was brought back to life by a daughter of the Devil." He shuddered.

"That's quite a difference, alright," Arte said grimly.

"Some reporters even tried getting into the sanitarium to see how I was doing and talk to me," Ray went on. He gripped his silverware. "Luckily the doctors wouldn't let that happen. But now that I'm here, they're finding new ways to sneak past security and get in."

"They're just asking for trouble," Coley muttered.

"I don't know what they're going to think of Rodman now," Ray said. "But more than the reporters, I'm worried about what Jason Everly will think."

"The blackmail victim who came with them today," Arte remembered. "What do you think he might try to do, Mr. Norman?"

"Oh, it's hard to say," Ray groaned. "He's always saying how he's going to get even with me. And he knows I hate fire; the papers somehow got hold of that fact. I'm afraid he might try to burn down the club some night."

"He'd go that far?" Arte gasped in disbelief.

"Farther," Ray said. "Anything to have his revenge on me. And if he starts thinking Rodman is . . . I don't know what, well, maybe he'll decide to involve Rodman in his revenge too. Maybe he'd try to turn us against each other, since he lost his family by his wife turning against him."

Coley frowned. "I don't know him and I don't like him. There's not much he could do if he tried a direct approach. I wouldn't believe anything he said."

"Is he clever enough to try an _in_direct approach?" Jim wondered.

"He might be," Ray said. "I just don't know. But anyway, I thought I should let you know what might potentially happen, since you're staying here too."

"Thanks for the warning," Arte declared. "Jim and I'll be careful, won't we, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Definitely. And we'll stay alert for the sakes of you and Rodman and everyone else here."

"Thank you." Ray tried to relax, but he continued to flinch at the mysterious and unexplained sounds throughout the area.

Everyone noticed, but said nothing. Coley intended to ask him about it later, in private. Somehow he doubted that Ray was so jumpy over just the reporters or even Jason Everly. The thing Ray seemed to fear the most was Dr. Portman.

The waiter briefly interrupted the conversation by appearing. Jim and Arte placed their orders, while Ray wanted dessert and Coley wanted seconds.

"Oh, Mr. Norman," Arte said suddenly, wanting to change the subject, "I was wondering. How difficult is it to obtain a license for one of those automobiles?"

"What?" Ray started and looked to him. "Oh. Well, it depends on how easily you pick up the knack for driving one. But driving classes are quite expensive."

"I see," Arte frowned. "And it isn't possible to learn simply from another driver, outside of a formal class?"

"That used to be alright, but it isn't considered enough anymore," Ray said.

"How expensive are the classes?" Arte persisted.

"Generally a couple hundred dollars, at least," Ray said.

Arte cringed. "Well, I guess that's out then. We can't spend our money on that."

"I don't know, Arte," Jim spoke, looking thoughtful. "Depending on how much ground we can cover on bicycles, we might end up finding that they're still not as useful as automobiles. Remember how fast we traveled in the Juggernaut?"

"Oh yes." Arte smiled at the memory. "That was such a fascinating invention. It wasn't that hard to drive, either. Such a shame it blew up."

Ray and Coley were both staring at them now. "Excuse me, but what's a Juggernaut?" Ray asked. "Or rather, what's _this_ Juggernaut?"

"I believe it may have been one of the earliest tanks," Arte said. "I saw some pictures of those in a book."

Ray shook his head. "I never heard of a tank existing in the 1870s."

"Well, in the Juggernaut's case, it was the only one of its kind. We saw at least one other, similar invention as well. Invented by a completely different man at that."

"And you _drove_ this thing?" Ray said in amazement.

"Yes. And in spite of the grim circumstances surrounding the necessity, I quite enjoyed it," Arte smiled.

"How fast did it go?" Ray wondered.

"Its top speed was around 40 miles per hour," Arte said. "It could hit 50, but keeping it at that too long was what caused it to give up the ghost."

Ray slowly nodded. "Automobiles go even faster than that," he said. "But I wouldn't recommend taking them faster than 60 or 70. It's illegal to take them that fast in the city, anyway. Speed limits signs are posted all over."

"I noticed those," Arte said. "A very useful safety feature."

"When people obey them," Jim added.

"You're very perceptive, Mr. West," Ray said. "Some people don't. That causes a lot of accidents, some of them fatal."

"I'd be very careful," Arte said. He looked to Jim in amazed delight. "But Jim, you're saying that taking lessons might become a reality for us?"

"Or at least for one of us, Arte," Jim said. "Let's see what kind of luck we have traveling around tomorrow and then decide."

"That's fair." But in spite of his calm and levelheaded words, Arte could not keep hidden his excitement over the prospect. As he dug into the newly arriving dinner, his movements and his eyes were filled with a joyous gleam.

Jim was gently amused. "Arte, you're acting like a little boy on Christmas morning," he said.

"That's about how I feel," Arte returned.

Ray looked to Coley, who had mostly been silent as he took in the discussion. "If you decide to stay here, do you want to learn to drive too?" he queried.

Coley shrugged. "I still don't know if I'd trust anything moving that fast. Maybe I'll wait and see how Gordon makes out, if he takes the classes."

Ray nodded. "And meantime, I could teach both you and Mr. Gordon how to drive a golf cart. Their top speed is only around 15 miles per hour, so in some ways they're fairly safe. Of course, the lack of safety belts is one of the most serious drawbacks."

"I find the concept of safety belts one of the most appealing things about automobiles," Arte declared.

Jim grinned. "Arte would be thrilled if horses came with safety belts."

"I would!" Arte declared. "Maybe I'll try to invent a saddle with one."

"_That_ would be interesting," Jim said. "Let me know if you really go through with it."

"Oh, I'd be sure to give you the first one," Arte replied. "Heaven knows you could use it, considering all the times you've been attacked on horseback."

Coley observed their banter, all the while pondering on Ray's offer. "I'm willing to try the golf cart thing," he said, looking to Ray. "Maybe tomorrow."

Ray smiled and nodded. "I'll make a note of that."

xxxx

The meal remained peaceful as the four allies conversed and ate. It was after dinner, and after Jim and Arte had said Goodnight, that Coley approached Ray near Ray's room.

"You were pretty nervous at dinner," he noted. "What's the problem?" He crossed his arms. "Is it really because of Everly and his threats?"

Ray sighed. "Not really. I know it's illogical, but it's mainly more of my thinking that Portman is going to break in sometime. I'm wondering if Everly might even try to spring her from the insane asylum to sic her on me."

"He'd be risking a lot," Coley said. "But he hasn't got anything to lose. At least, that's what you've said he's stuck on thinking, isn't it?"

"Yes." Ray ran a hand through his hair. "I could imagine he'd do it. Maybe he'd even tell her about you. Even if he didn't, she'd see you here and wonder what you were up to."

"And she'd want to experiment on me too. Is that it?"

"I bet she would. I'm told she has a sick fascination with trying to turn people against each other. And since she knows I haven't been close to anyone, you'd be a prime candidate."

Coley frowned, considering that. "Look, Norman. If you trust me, let me have my gun back. I don't know if Portman will escape, or be let out, but I don't trust Everly. If he tries to do anything, whether it involves Portman or not, I want to have some protection against him for both of us."

Ray blinked in surprise, but nodded after a moment's hesitation. "You're right. I have it in my office. Come with me and I'll give it to you."

Coley walked with him to the darkened room. Once they were inside, Ray shut the door and crossed to the desk. As Coley watched, he opened the top drawer and took out Coley's weapon. "Here," he said, holding it out. "Maybe if anyone asks, you can say you're a collector of old guns."

"Maybe." Coley accepted the weapon, catching sight of another metal gleam in the drawer before Ray closed it. "What's that other gun?" he asked.

Ray sighed. "It's mine," he admitted. "I'm not supposed to have one, because of my past crimes and because I'm still on probation. Er, I'll explain about probation later. But anyway . . . well, I have the gun because . . ."

"You wanted more protection against Portman," Coley deduced.

Ray nodded. "I know I didn't want to do anything else illegal at all, but my possession of that gun is my one exception. I . . . I've never been so afraid of anything in my entire life as I am of being taken back to that devil." He looked to Coley pleadingly. "You won't . . ."

"No one'll know from me," Coley vowed.

Ray smiled and relaxed. He believed it.

xxxx

It was within the hour that one of Flo's men returned to her table and handed her a piece of paper, whispering in her ear at the same time. She frowned in thoughtfulness as she accepted the sheet and studied its contents.

On the opposite side of the table, Snakes sat tensely, waiting for the verdict. He leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Well?" he demanded. "What's it say?"

Flo continued to scrutinize it for a long moment. When at last she looked up, she smirked at her unusual guest. "It says you're a bad boy, Mr. Tolliver. It says you lied to me." She waved the paper at him. "Apparently you tried to kill your former boss. No wonder she doesn't want anything to do with you."

Snakes cringed. "Does it say anything else?"

"One very interesting item." Flo peered at him over the top of the paper. "It says you're dead."

"I can explain that!" Snakes exclaimed instantly. "This mad scientist brought me back to the life. All the rest of the gang, too."

"You don't say." Flo spoke vaguely, not offering an opinion one way or the other on what she made of all this.

"It's true!" Snakes insisted in desperation. "You have to believe me!"

"I doubt I _have_ to, Mr. Tolliver. But I do anyway." Flo smiled, setting the paper aside. "You look exactly like your photograph. And in this day and age, we've all heard about the miracle Dr. Alice Portman performed in reviving a dead man. So perhaps the art started some time back instead of being invented by Portman. It's all the same to me, really. Reviving the dead isn't my interest."

Snakes was still uneasy. "What are you going to do?"

Flo leaned in and lowered her voice. Gallito had to lean over his booth and strain to hear anything.

"I think I'm having a change of plans," Flo purred. "How about I don't tell my superiors anything about you? I'll see what I can do for you, and in return, you'll show me and only me this portal. You'll help elevate me to the top of the organization."

"And what if you kill me when you don't need me any more?" Snakes returned.

"I could ask you the same question." Flo straightened. "This will be a partnership that we'll both stay in until we each have what we want. Then, perhaps, we'll need to be on guard for back-stabbing antics."

Snakes considered the terms and nodded. "Fair enough."

Flo smiled. "I believe you're right, Mr. Tolliver—we'll get along just fine."

Gallito turned away, deep concern spread across his face. So Flo was now Miss Posey's enemy. Considering everything that was likely at Flo's beck and call, this was very ill news indeed.

They were definitely in serious trouble. And right now, he did not even know where Miss Posey and the others were.

The only possible consolation was that Flo and Snakes didn't know, either.

At the first opportune moment, Gallito sneaked out of the booth and departed the club.

He had to find where they were and warn them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

It was the middle of the night, but Coley was lying awake in bed, his gun in his hand. It felt good to have it back, but he wasn't holding it for any sentimental reasons. He honestly wondered if he would need it.

At last he set it down on the nightstand, annoyed with himself for his reluctance. Was he paranoid? This wasn't the Old West. But on the other hand, at least for Ray, Coley wasn't sure it was much different.

He was still furious at those people for barging in earlier that day. They had known full well that they were not welcome, but they had come nevertheless. And Coley had little doubt that they would be back.

He hoped Ray _was_ just paranoid about Everly setting Portman loose, or Portman getting out in some other way, but he wondered if it was such a good idea to be so certain. He did not know the woman. Ray had been under her thumb for two years. Paranoia or not, he surely knew a great deal about her by now.

Coley winced as he drew his right arm back towards the bed. Moving it just the wrong way aggravated the wounds. And he had just moved it the wrong way.

Ray had been helping him change the bandages each day. The cuts were slowly mending, but neither of them was sure what to do about the burn. Coley was still lukewarm about going to the hospital and having them treat it. Perhaps he could say that he had just had an accident while ironing clothes, but what if the doctor saw the bandages up and down both his arms? Then he would certainly know that something out of the ordinary had happened. And Coley just wasn't keen on revealing anything of Pinto's involvement or identity.

He turned over, gazing out the window at the clear night sky. The stars were bright, albeit perhaps less so than in his day. Ray said that even though they were close to the mountains, the city lights and the smog and smoke from the factories and automobiles affected the air and the sky.

It was such a different world than what he was used to. He had been reading about it on the Internet as well as in books that Ray owned. And yet other things were still the same. Crime still existed. People still worried about the same things—business, power, families. There were still friends, still enemies. People still betrayed each other. Sometimes they stayed loyal.

"_The more things change, the more they stay the same,"_ he had remarked dryly at one point. _"All the new technology just seems to give people new ways to do things they've been doing for the past 138 years. Probably for all time."_

Ray had agreed. _"There are other differences too, though,"_ he had said. _"People's values and priorities have altered a lot."_

Coley had shrugged. _"Maybe. But a lot of the things going on today that people make a big deal about were going on in my time, too. Sometimes more under the table, sure, but they were there."_

Overall he felt like he could adjust fairly easily to this time and place, were he to stay.

He frowned at the darkened room. When Ray hadn't known what he was doing, he had performed an Internet search on his mother. It had taken some time, and several pages of worthless and unhelpful blather (and several Facebook profiles; what was Facebook?), but he had finally found a bit of information on the particular Ilene Rodman that he wanted.

According to the website he had located, which had provided references and links to several newspaper articles that backed up the research, his mother had lived on into the 20th Century. She had witnessed the inventions of the electric light bulb, the phonograph, the telephone, the automobile, and had seen the start of the First World War.

She had died still wondering what had happened to her son after his disappearance in 1874. When interviewed towards the end of her life, she had told the reporter that she was certain Coley was dead, that he had probably been gunned down in some unfair fight in a backwoods town and had been buried on some Boot Hill, with no identification and no name. She had expressed a hope that she would see him again soon, when she passed out of mortality.

It sickened him, to think of her dying and discovering that Coley was not there for her to meet. But then again, he supposed, it would make her happier to know that he was alive and well, even if in another time.

He rolled onto his side. All of that was so surreal. For him, she was still alive. He was part of two worlds, as he had told Ray, and in one of those worlds it was still 1874. Even if he chose to stay here, he wished that he could get a message to her and let her know that he was safe. Perhaps, if the time ever came, he could ask Arte to deliver the message from him.

But did he want to stay? It was still a conflict in his mind and heart, even though logic told him there should not be any issue in the matter. He was free and clear here. He had no guarantee that he would even live in his own time. Or, even if Arte could ensure that he would not be hanged (especially for crimes he had not committed), he could not feature himself spending the rest of his life behind bars.

Did he deserve to? He was not sure of that, either. He needed to pay for what he had done in some way, he supposed, if he truly was going to make a clean breast of things. But was there another way to do it, in his case? If he started over, keeping on the right side of the law in this time and not wronging anyone else, surely it would be more useful than languishing in prison or on a chain gang somewhere.

Or maybe he was still just trying to justify and excuse himself.

He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling high above him.

Then there was Ray, lonely and shaken and still badly emotionally scarred from his experience. He had taken Coley in, caring for him, and wanted him to stay. Coley felt some need to repay Ray's kindness, to look after him and make sure that Everly and the reporters and whoever else did not continually torture him. And he had even said that he was willing to see how a friendship would work out.

Well, he had meant it. He was willing to try. And the look in Ray's eyes, that glimmer of hopefulness, also seemed surreal. Ray must really be desperate, to look for a friend in Coley, of all people.

He probably would have latched onto anyone in his state, as long as the person understood and could relate to deep suffering. Coley had just happened to be picked because he had shown up right then. But even if this was not personal, even if Ray did not necessarily care more about Coley than he would have about anyone else he could have potentially taken in instead, he was still willing to accept Coley as he was. That was unusual and worth staying around for.

Ray knew that this might not last, that Coley might decide to go home, but he still hoped for a different resolution. And when Coley knew how damaged Ray was, could he really leave? Particularly if he knew he was just going to end up in prison?

Perhaps, if there was a better way to make restitution for his crimes, it was here, with Ray, doing what he could to help him heal.

Coley sighed. There were no concrete answers. He should try to put it all out of his mind and go to sleep.

That, however, was easier said than done. His mind wanted to keep thinking, even though _he_ wanted to rest. And in a battle like that, his mind usually won.

He threw the covers over his head in frustrated despair.

xxxx

"He ordered six sandwiches to go?"

Renowned defense attorney Perry Mason stared at Terrance Clay in disbelieving amazement. He, his secretary Della Street, and private detective Paul Drake were sharing a late dinner at their favorite restaurant, while Clay told of his bizarre visitor from earlier.

"Yes! I could hardly believe it. Oh, not about the sandwiches necessarily, but the fact that he paid with such an old coin." Clay shook his head. "When I took it to a coin dealer and he paid me for it, my jaw very nearly hit the counter!"

Paul shook his head. "I know food is a great thing, but that guy seems just a little excessive."

"That's exactly what I think!" Clay nodded. "And there's more. Originally he tried to pay me with the precise amount I asked for—all in old coins!"

Della stared. "He had that many that he was just carrying around?"

"Just carrying around, as if they were nothing unusual!" Clay shook his head. "I'll never understand some people."

"It seems odd that he wouldn't know the value of what he was holding," Perry commented. "Apparently he didn't, since you say he tried to pay you with the exact amount of dollar coins that his bill came to."

"He must be terribly absent-minded," Clay said. "Or else the coins belonged to someone else in his family and he just borrowed them without looking that closely."

"I don't see how he wouldn't realize," said Della. "Was he upset when you told him?"

"No, not at all," Clay replied. "He took it all in stride! And he looked dreamy beyond compare when I told him just one of the coins would buy him an enormous amount of food."

"Strange," Perry mused.

"A lot of strange things have been happening in town lately," Paul said. "Did you hear about the show those three guys put on yesterday morning?"

All eyes turned to him. "What show, Paul?" Della asked.

Paul shrugged. "Oh, this one guy was lassoed by another guy and then that guy and a third guy, some nut with matches, acted like they were threatening the first guy. Everyone thought it was a movie at first, but then they realized there weren't any cameras or film crews. When someone said about calling the police, those two guys ran off in a big hurry."

"So it didn't seem like a show at all," Della blinked.

"No, Beautiful. They acted like it was for real. The first guy seemed genuinely scared."

Perry considered this information. "Were you there, Paul?"

"Yeah, I was," said Paul. "Way at the back of the crowd, but I was there. I tried to push my way through to go after those clowns, but they'd got away by the time I made it to the front. And the guy they were threatening was pretty close-lipped about everything.

"Oh, there was one more strange thing. Both that guy and the one who did the lassoing were dressed like they were ready for a showdown in the Old West."

Perry chuckled. "If they weren't making a movie, maybe they were from a convention in town."

"Maybe," Paul said. "Except I don't think there's a convention currently on that would attract people wearing get-ups like that."

Della shrugged. "Well, if it wasn't a movie, and it wasn't a convention, what does that leave?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing other than three nuts."

"What was the third man wearing?" Perry queried.

Paul sighed. "He was a real case. He was dressed in what looked like Turkish clothes and kept striking matches with his teeth."

Clay blinked. "The man who bought all the sandwiches was Russian, I think. He was attired in something that looked similar to costumes I've seen Russian performers wear on television."

"It's probably not connected, but it _is_ odd," Perry mused. "And yet there's so many colorful people who turn up in Los Angeles all the time. I doubt there's anything to worry about, unless those other people try to go after that man again."

"One final note," Paul said. "The guy they were going after had one of the longest scars I've ever seen. It was on his left cheek, just like in the gangster movies. The original injury must have been pretty serious; the scar was even raised up."

"A hypertrophic scar," Perry said.

"Yeah." Paul shook his head. "The whole thing was weird. I mean, what a crew."

"It would make an interesting story," Clay said.

"If you want to write about it, Clay, be my guest," said Paul. "I've got too many cases as it is to bother."

"You know, I think I'll ask that man if he knows those other people, if he comes around for more sandwiches," Clay mused. "And considering how much money I got from him, I'm sure he will."

"There is another possibility," Perry said. "What if the coins were stolen and he was trying to palm them off on you?"

Clay rocked back. "Well, I suppose it's possible, but I really don't think so."

"All the same, why don't you let us know if or when he comes around again?" Perry suggested.

Clay nodded. "Very well, if that's what you want."

Perry smiled. "After all this, I have to admit I'm curious, if nothing else."

"Understandable," Clay said. "I'm curious too.

"And speaking of things to be curious about, have you heard from your client Ray Norman lately?"

"No, I haven't," Perry replied.

Clay looked eager. "Well, I hear there was some excitement out at his place today." He pulled the evening newspaper over to them.

"Oh no." Della leaned across the counter to look. "Are the reporters torturing that poor man again? After all he's been through?"

Clay nodded. "I'm afraid so. And one of his old blackmail victims was out there with them."

Perry frowned as he skimmed over the article. "A mysterious man threatened to kick all of them out," he half-read, half-announced.

"That's the most interesting part," Clay smiled. "Your client seems to have found a protector."

"He certainly deserves one," Della declared.

Perry nodded, still absorbed in the story. At last he looked up, thoughtful. "I think maybe it's time I paid a visit to Mr. Norman again."

"Not tonight," Della gasped.

Perry glanced at a clock. "I suppose it _is_ rather late for most people. Alright, I'll make it tomorrow."

"You'll tell what you find out, won't you?" Clay said with interest.

"Clay, you're an incorrigible gossip," Perry proclaimed.

Clay shrugged. "I'm just interested in the well-being of a friend of my friend."

"Oh, of course," said Perry. "Well, I can't make any promises. You remember about privileged communications, I'm sure." He smiled as he got up.

"Sadly, yes." Clay gave a mock sigh.

"I _will_ be sure to tell you if Mr. Norman is doing well. Since you're just interested his well-being." There was a twinkle in Perry's eye while he spoke.

Della smiled with a touch of mischief as she and Paul stood as well. "Goodnight, Clay," she said smoothly.

"Night," Paul echoed.

"Goodnight," Clay said in resignation.

Paul leaned in close as they departed. "Say, Perry. You _are_ going to tell us more than you'll tell Clay, won't you?"

"You know _we_ won't gossip," Della added.

"And surely you two know that privileged communications are between a lawyer and his client, not a lawyer, his secretary, and his private detective," Perry deadpanned.

Della sighed. "Alright, Chief."

Paul shook his head. "You're a stickler for those rules. Not that it's a bad thing, but we're interested in how Ray's doing too."

"Of course you are. But you know how reserved he is. I think there's still some things he hasn't even told _me._" Perry opened the car door for Della.

She slid inside, while Paul leaned on the roof. "In that case, he might not even tell you about this mysterious protector of his," he remarked.

"He might not," Perry agreed. "But if the protector is staying at the club too, maybe I'll at least catch a glimpse of him." He paused. "The reporter writing that article described him as looking like he had stepped out of the Old West. She said he was just missing a gun belt packing a six-shooter."

Paul straightened in shock. "_Three_ people running around town dressed for days gone by?" he exclaimed.

"It _is_ starting to sound like a strange coincidence, isn't it," Perry mused.

"Especially with no convention in town," Paul said. "But I can't imagine what connection those people I saw on the street could have with Ray Norman."

"Maybe it bears investigating at that," Perry said.

"I would say so," Della said in amazement.

"I'll see what I can find out in the morning," Perry vowed as he walked around to enter the car through the driver's side. Paul climbed in the back and they were soon pulling out of the parking lot.

xxxx

Ray found himself restless and awake, his mind filled with the events of the past few days. But instead of staying in his room, he began to wander the club.

The halls were mostly empty at this time of night, the guests having retired to their rooms and cabins. Their absence lent a somewhat eerie feeling to the long corridors and large gathering rooms. Not that Ray believed the club was haunted, of course. But he imagined it would be a perfect breeding ground for children's make-believe.

He paused near the doorway of the back den, his hand resting on the doorframe. He remembered being a young child, scaring himself with thoughts of restless, roaming spirits. Now he was a grown man, scaring himself with thoughts of restless, roaming mad scientists.

If only those thoughts could be as fictitious as the ghosts he had dreamed up as a boy.

He pushed away from the door, continuing his path along the corridor.

It was not much of a surprise to open the door to the library and find Jim and Arte poring over volumes again. Ray had half-expected that.

What _was_ a surprise was that Arte had booted up one of the computers and was alternately operating it and examining _Windows for Dummies_.

Ray raised an eyebrow as he walked over. "I was going to teach you about the computer, Mr. Gordon," he said. "But it looks like you don't need my help."

"Oh, I'm just trying a few things," Arte said. "I wanted to see if I could get 'er going. I brought this book to look at, but I haven't needed it much."

"I'm impressed." Ray rested one hand on top of the other on the wall of the computer niche. "What do you think of it so far?"

"Mr. Norman, it's fantastic!" Arte gushed. "What I wouldn't give to be able to bring one of these beautiful inventions back to 1874!"

Jim smiled in fond amusement. "That would probably really disrupt that space-time continuum you were reading about, Arte."

"I know, I know," Arte sighed. "If such a thing exists, of course."

"Even if it doesn't, would you even be able to get the computer to work in our time? Electricity hasn't been harnessed yet."

"It will just be a few short years now," Arte said. "If I could keep it in storage until then, I'm sure I could get it working."

"But it wouldn't be able to connect to the Internet," Jim pointed out.

"Such a shame, too." Arte leaned back. "I've been learning so much! It would take hours of research into numberless volumes of books to gather all of this information, if not for the Internet."

Ray shook his head. "I thought you were going to get some sleep to be fresh for your search in the morning," he said.

"We are," Arte nodded. "We should have gone before, but I was still wide-awake and Jim said he didn't feel that tired, either. So we decided we should do some more studying on the modern world."

"We thought you were in bed, though, Mr. Norman," Jim said.

"I should be," Ray sighed. "So much has been happening lately that my mind has been overly active. It's difficult to make it settle down."

"Same here," Arte said. "I imagine it would be quite a mind-activating thing, to have three people from the past suddenly here as guests."

"And to know you might have at least one of them indefinitely." Jim looked to Ray. "Do you know what Rodman wants to do when he's completely healed?"

"I don't think _he_ knows what he wants to do," Ray replied. "But he said he'll stay at least until a portal is discovered. He's considering staying on permanently, but he hasn't decided anything yet. I think he's at least partially waiting on what you might be able to do for him, Mr. Gordon." He glanced at Arte. "He still has family back in his—your—time. And no matter what he says, I think he's conflicted about never seeing them again."

Arte slowly nodded. "We've spoken with his mother before," he said. "After he escaped from the prison transport, we searched in vain for him for some time. We didn't really think his mother would have any idea where he was, but we talked to her anyway. She's a nice lady."

"Above all, she loves her son, in spite of what he became," Jim said.

"He wants to turn his life around," Ray said. "You know that, I hope."

"We know," Arte said. "I'm keeping track of all of this information for my report."

Jim tilted his head to the side. "You don't want him to go, do you, Mr. Norman."

Ray turned away, his hands dropping to his sides. "If I'm fully honest, no, I don't. But I don't want to keep him here if he'd rather go back to the world he knows best."

"Mr. Norman. . . ." Arte rose from the computer chair. "If I'm fully honest, I think he wants to stay. At any rate, I don't think it would be hard for him to adjust. I think his mother is probably the only reason he would consider going back. Not that it isn't a big reason, but overall, I think he would have a better chance for a bright future here, in this time."

"If the space-time continuum isn't a problem," Jim intoned.

"Yes, yes, if that." Arte nodded and waved at him in impatience. "But there's no concrete proof it even exists, or that even if it does, the rules are the same as what people have been writing in their books."

"And there's no real way to find out, either," Ray said in frustration.

"Except to wait and see if time starts collapsing on itself," Arte said. "And I realize that's not a very encouraging solution. But it seems like if that _is_ the case, there should definitely be a portal somewhere. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to get out of here to stop it at all."

"It's frightening when you really stop to think about it," Ray remarked. "I don't want to believe that it would cause a problem. I want to believe that if someone wants to stay, even if they are out of their time, that for Heaven's sake, it would be fine!" He threw his hands in the air. "They shouldn't be forced to conform to strange rules and regulations, especially if by going back, they might just _die!_"

Arte looked down. "None of us want that, Mr. Norman. After all this, Coley Rodman's life has become dear to all of us."

Standing outside the door, reaching for the knob, the insomniac Coley paused. He knew that Arte cared what happened to him, but it was still both surreal and humbling, to hear him say it like that.

Jim looked up. "Come in, Rodman."

The door opened. "You couldn't have known it was me," Coley challenged.

"You're right," Jim said. "I guessed."

"Well, isn't this cozy." Arte shook his head. "Can you believe it? None of us can sleep!"

"It'll just take time," said Jim.

"Meanwhile, since we're all here and I'm thinking about it . . ." Ray looked to each of the three time-travelers. "Thanksgiving _is_ a national holiday in your time, isn't it?"

"Mmm! Best and worst holiday ever," Arte declared. "It's just an excuse for gluttony. But such a wonderful excuse. Imagine—a holiday made specifically to eat!"

"That's right," Jim mused. "It is coming up, isn't it. I saw it on the calendar in our room."

"It's been a long time since I've spent Thanksgiving in peace," Coley grunted.

Ray nodded. "Well, I'd like to invite all of you to have Thanksgiving dinner with me. I always used to hold a big dinner for everyone at the club, and I plan to do that again, but unless you want to join the crowd I thought we'd have a private dinner to ourselves."

"That sounds fine to me!" said Arte.

Jim nodded. "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Norman. We'd be happy to accept."

"I accept too," Coley said.

Ray smiled. "Good." He paused. "But what if you find the portal before then?"

Arte shrugged. "We still have to round up Miss Posey and her gang. And in any case, I'm sure going back could wait long enough for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Then it's settled. I'll tell the staff to have our favorite private dining room ready for Thanksgiving."

Coley could not help noticing the light in Ray's eyes. It was the same look he had seen when Coley had said he was willing to try a friendship. From that look and Ray's tone of voice, Coley gathered that Ray was thinking he at least had that much time to look forward to spending with Coley, before Coley might decide to or need to return to his own time.

Coley frowned, looking away. He wished he knew what to think or do. He did not want to keep Ray's hopes up if he was going to go back—or if he would have to go, whether he wanted to or not. But he did not know that he could say for sure that he would be staying, either.

At this point in time, it was a hopeless puzzle.

Perhaps ultimately, what he might really want would be to live in and be actively involved with both worlds.

But that would be impossible, wouldn't it?


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Pinto was up fairly early to resume the search. Sergei and Gallito were still missing, and Lucrece wanted to see them found before much of anything else happened.

Their rented house came with a computer and the Internet. Lucrece had been up for a large part of the night, researching organized crime and taking notes. When they did find their other members, she would have a lot for them to discuss at their next board meeting.

She never had actually said that she loved Pinto, but she had said just about everything except that. Pinto wanted to believe that she did, that it was in her actions that her true feelings were spoken. For now, that would be enough to satisfy him.

"You are up earlier than I thought you would be, my friend."

He glanced over his shoulder at Brutus's arrival. "Oh?"

Brutus nodded. "Particularly since Miss Posey is still asleep after performing her research."

Pinto shrugged. "Then we'll just start looking for the others while she rests and Cyril stands guard."

"That is logical."

They walked down the hall and towards the stairs, both silent, but with unspoken words hanging in the air. Pinto finally turned to look at Brutus, the questions in his eyes. Brutus got the message.

". . . Cyril and I . . . saw you and Miss Posey last night."

"Yeah?" Pinto took it in stride. "What'd you think?"

"Cyril was surprised. I was not."

Pinto started down the stairs. "Were you hopin' it would be you with her?"

"No. I have never cared about her in that way. Besides, I knew she loved you."

That stopped Pinto in his tracks. "You knew?" He turned and regarded his comrade in incredulity. "How?"

Brutus shrugged. "Even before we were killed, I sensed something in her manner around you. She denied it to herself as well to you and everyone else. It was just little things, such as the way she looked after you at times, and it only lasted for brief moments before she erased it, but sometimes I saw."

Pinto turned away, resuming his journey down the stairs. "You weren't the only one. Sometimes I saw too, but I figured I was just fooling myself if I thought there was anything to it."

"You were too closely involved to see the truth."

Pinto nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was at that."

Brutus paused. "So you are satisfied, even though she never could actually bring herself to say she loves you?"

Pinto shot him a Look. "Just how long were you two there, anyway?"

"Not long," Brutus replied. "But we could still hear the rest of the conversation. There wasn't much more after that."

Pinto scrawled out a brief note and headed for the kitchen to grab a swift breakfast. "I'm more than satisfied. She pretty much said it, alright; she just didn't use words."

Brutus nodded. "A wise way to look at it. I believe she will use words, too, eventually."

"Maybe she will. But she already gave me more than I ever could've hoped for." Pinto opened the fridge and dug through the supplies Lucrece had arranged to be bought.

Brutus came and leaned on the stove, watching him. "And what if we cannot find a way home? Will you be satisfied staying here?"

"Why not? It's as good a place as any." Pinto straightened, holding several types of food. ". . . Unless Cyril gets too hooked on that television set."

Brutus smirked. "He may. Last night he discovered a strange kind of television program. It advertised a product for thirty minutes."

"Oh. Those." Pinto set the stuff on the table and began making breakfast. "What'd he like about that?"

Brutus joined him. "They were advertising something called a DVD, which consisted of two hours of nothing but a picture of a burning Yule log while Christmas music played in the background."

"Oh brother." Pinto shook his head. Cyril could not care less about the Christmas music, but two hours of a burning anything would absolutely entrance him.

"He took down the telephone number, but was unsure how to order using what they referred to as a credit card. The announcer mentioned also accepting checks, but Cyril does not have any of those."

"I'm not sure Lucrece will like Cyril's interest," Pinto mused. "And it's early to start talkin' about Christmas."

"It must be usual here; I saw many holiday-themed advertisements."

Pinto nodded. "And on that talking device the radio, there's a few different stations playing nothing but Christmas music. I never knew there were so many Christmas songs."

"Some people must have written a few more."

"Can't say much for most of this modern music, either. I think they call it _rock _or _heavy metal. _Hurts my ears. About the only thing it might be good for is torturing somebody."

"Then I am sure you will find a way to put it to use."

"Can't be on most people from this time, though; they like it." Pinto shrugged. "Not that I've got any reason to torture them. Maybe I'll pick up a few music devices and take them back with us, if we go back."

"That would be interesting. Would Miss Posey approve of spiriting away such souvenirs?"

"I don't rightly think she'd mind."

"Most likely not, particularly if they would be of use to us. But if Cyril manages to obtain that DVD, he would most likely want to take it back as well."

"Oh yeah, no way around that."

"What a strange world," Brutus mused.

"Strange, but interesting," Pinto returned.

"Yes," Brutus nodded. "Interesting."

xxxx

Coley frowned as he stood and stared at the whitish creation Ray called a golf cart. Ray stood by, allowing him to absorb his first impression all on his own.

It was late in the morning, nearly noon, but this was the soonest they had been able to get out here after having a decent sleep. Ray had invited Jim and Arte to join them, and he had the feeling that they would, before going in search of the portal. Arte most likely would not be able to resist the chance to see the cart in action and then try it himself.

"So this is a golf cart." Coley poked it with a finger. "I have this funny feeling that I was up close and personal with one once before."

"You were," Ray admitted. "But you were so delirious I wasn't sure you'd even remember."

"The night I showed up here," Coley realized. "You took me to the main building in one."

"This very one," Ray said. "It's my personal golf cart."

"You can tell it apart from all the others?" Coley looked doubtfully at the other white machines cruising along at various locations on the grass.

"Of course I can," Ray said in amusement. "Anyway, if I couldn't, I'd be in trouble. This key only starts this particular golf cart." He held it up.

Coley shrugged. "That's good to know. Alright, let's see what it can do."

Ray got into the driver's seat and waited for Coley to climb in on the other side before inserting the key into the ignition and turning it from Off to On.

"Most golf carts, including mine, run on electricity and not gas," he explained. "There isn't a loud motor, like you'll hear in an automobile."

"That's fine with me," Coley said. "But how do you know it's working right?"

"Just assume it's running whenever this switch is at the On position." Ray pointed. "Otherwise you might endanger yourself, any passengers, and anyone out on the green."

Coley nodded. "I'll remember."

"And you have to make sure the brake is on when you want to go. Generally speaking, carts won't start up if the brakes aren't on. Check that before you slide the key in. Then put the cart in the proper gear—Forward or Reverse—and press gently on the accelerator, just enough so that the brake comes off. You'll know when that happens."

Ray demonstrated as he spoke. Coley watched, attentive, wanting to make sure he had everything right.

"The cart will start off at its full power, so be ready for a start."

The cart jerked almost as soon as Ray spoke. Coley grabbed the nearby doorway beam for support. "Do automobiles do that too?" he asked in displeasure.

"No, not usually. An automobile starts a lot smoother."

Ray began to drive over the grass. Coley slowly leaned back as the ride evened out. It was turning out to be quite pleasant, somewhat to his surprise.

"Do you drive this thing all the time?" he asked.

"Most days," Ray said. "I like to drive around the perimeter of the grounds and make sure everything is in order at the beginning and the end of each day. That's what I was doing the night I found you."

Coley thought about that. "You say you live here at the club. Do you ever leave at all?"

Ray flushed a bit as he stared out through the open windshield space. "I have a car," he said. "Yes, I've left."

"But not often or for a long time," Coley deduced.

". . . Mostly just for court-related appointments, visiting the bank, and gathering supplies."

Coley frowned. "You can't live like that forever."

"I know." Ray gripped the steering wheel. "I just . . . I haven't had the strength to go out more." Portman had shattered him in countless ways, including this. He had become almost a complete recluse to the property. It angered and embarrassed him. After all, he had once been an ordinary but powerful man, living an ordinary but powerful life. Leaving the club had not been a big deal at all back then.

Of course, neither had blackmailing people.

Coley nodded slowly. Maybe they would be able to change Ray's fears in the future. He certainly did not intend to stay here on end once he was healed. He wanted to get out, to see the city. If he could convince Ray to come with him, eventually they might make some real progress.

For now, however, he would be content to remain on the grounds and learn about this invention.

Ray slowed to a stop near the edge of the grass. "I think that's enough for you to get the basic idea," he said as he applied the brake. "Do you want to try it now?"

"Sure," Coley replied.

xxxx

Perry Mason was not sure what he expected to see when he pulled up at the Oak Bridge Golf Club towards the lunch hour. Apparently it would have been possible to have spoke with Ray last night, as he had stayed up late with insomnia and had been sleeping on through the morning. It had only been when Della had called within the past hour that they had learned Ray was finally awake, albeit occupied on the green with a golf cart. Perry had decided to drive out and talk with Ray on the green.

The person on the phone had not mentioned that Ray was not alone in the golf cart. When Perry finally spotted him and got out of his car to approach, he discovered Ray climbing out of the cart and walking around to the passenger side, while an unknown fellow was moving into the driver's seat. Once Ray was back inside, the new driver got the cart in gear and they immediately flew off across the grass.

Ray yelped at the abrupt jolt and continuing speed. "I told you it would start right up at top speed!"

The brake was promptly applied. "Sorry. I must've done something wrong." The other man glowered at the device. "Or it did."

"It's not alive like a horse is. The only way it lives is when you control it. Now, let's try it again."

This time the cart gave the opening jolt but then comfortably settled down as the driver steered it over the flat terrain. Ray started to relax. "That's better. See, it isn't that hard, is it?"

"No, it isn't," the other man conceded. "I could get used to this. I like this idea of being in charge myself, instead of fighting with a stubborn animal."

Perry watched them for a moment before catching sight of two men standing nearby and observing. He stiffened in surprise. They were both dressed in clothing of the Victorian era. And the man with Ray, despite wearing modern clothes, looked like he was trying to at least imitate the Old West, what with his dark hat, red bandanna, and leather gloves.

Yes, something strange _was_ going on.

Perry walked over to the two men. "Good morning," he greeted.

They turned to look. "Good morning," replied one of the men, seeming friendly but uncertain.

Perry held out a hand. "Perry Mason."

Recognition glimmered in the others' eyes. "Oh! Mr. Norman's lawyer." The man with the darkest hair reached and grasped Perry's hand. "Artemus Gordon."

"James West," said the other, also reaching to shake Perry's hand.

Perry complied, then looked back at the cart. "I didn't realize Mr. Norman gave driving lessons," he remarked.

"Well, not usually, no," said Artemus. "This is a special case." He seemed the most involved in his observation, staring after the cart with what seemed to be almost a sort of awe.

James West watched it more casually. He turned, looking to Perry. "Did you need to talk with Mr. Norman about something?" he wondered.

"Well, I wouldn't say _need to_," Perry admitted. "Mainly I wanted to check up on him and see if he was doing alright. I heard about the commotion yesterday."

James nodded slowly. "I imagine all of Los Angeles did."

Artemus continued to look after the cart, his jaw slack. "Hmm? He's doing alright."

Perry regarded him in puzzled amusement. "Forgive me, Mr. Gordon. I hope I'm not being too forward, but you act as though you've never seen a golf cart before."

"Huh? Oh." Artemus tried to shake himself back to the present situation. "Well, it's not that exactly, but . . ." He gestured wildly as he stammered, clearly unsure of what to say.

Perry smiled. "It's perfectly alright. I'm just unused to seeing a golf cart the subject of so much fascination."

Artemus tried to relax. "It's a bit too low-tech for most people, eh?"

"Something like that," Perry agreed.

He watched as the cart made a sweeping turn. "So, who is the man with Mr. Norman, if I might ask? You mentioned this as being a special case. Is he a friend I haven't met?"

"He's . . ." Artemus and James exchanged a Look. "Let's just say he's a recent guest. We all are."

"Oh, I see. You're here for the golf, then?"

"Well, no . . ." Artemus fought for the right words.

James already had them. "Mr. Norman is helping us with a problem. We're staying here until it's solved."

Relieved, Artemus nodded. "None of us particularly like golf," he said. "Strangely enough."

"And yet a golf cart ties in with your problem?" Perry nodded thoughtfully. "How interesting."

Artemus chuckled a bit nervously. "Yes, well, it's a most . . . _unique_ problem."

"It must be," Perry agreed.

He hesitated. "I can't help but notice your manner of dress. Are you actors?"

Artemus smiled proudly, indicating himself. "One of the greatest Shakespearian performers on the stage."

James smirked. "Not to mention one of the most modest." He looked to Perry. "I've acted, from time to time."

"And the man driving the golf cart?"

Artemus hesitated now. "Well . . . maybe you'd better talk to him about that."

Perry looked to him. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, we do," said Artemus. "But as far as we know, he doesn't usually operate in the . . . same line of work as we do."

"I see." Perry frowned to himself. These men might be telling the truth to some extent, but he had the feeling they were definitely holding back. Perhaps the one had acted on the stage, as he said, but he hadn't actually said if he was acting now. And if he only did Shakespeare, Victorian clothing would be a bit ahead of the plays' times.

As for James West, Perry certainly had the feeling that his profession was not acting. And the same went for the man with Ray.

When he got back to the office, he would have Paul run a check on James West and Artemus Gordon and see what could be learned.

The golf cart slowed to a stop and the key was turned. "There," said the unknown man. "It's off now, right?"

"Yes." Ray nodded. "Just remember, even though it doesn't make a noise, it's active whenever the key is turned to On."

"That's easy enough." He froze, seeing Perry. "Someone new showed up. It's not another reporter, is it?"

Ray tensed before following the other's gaze. "No, it isn't. That's my attorney." He climbed out of the cart. "Come on; I'll introduce you. It looks like he's already met Mr. West and Mr. Gordon."

He headed over to Perry, his pupil trailing after him. "Mr. Mason! I wasn't expecting you this morning." He shook Perry's hand and smiled. "This is Coley Rodman. I was just showing him the finer points of manning a golf cart."

"You're a good teacher, Ray." Perry smiled too. Looking to Coley, he said, "And you followed his instructions very well, Mr. Rodman."

Coley shrugged. "It wasn't complicated."

Suddenly he sobered, looking at Perry with a stern, serious eye. "And if you're Norman's attorney, can't you do something to keep the reporters and that Jason Everly away?"

Perry blinked at the abrupt demand, but nodded. "I can, but it's only as effective as their willingness to obey."

"Then it's hopeless," Coley snorted.

"We could try, anyway." Perry looked to Ray. "I could take out a restraining order on those men if you'd like, Ray."

"I'm ready for anything, Mr. Mason," Ray exclaimed. "But not even the threats of armed security guards seem to frighten them."

"Or the threats of other angry men?" Perry glanced to Coley. "I'm assuming you're the one who ordered them off and threatened to use a gun."

"That's right," Coley replied without hesitation or shame. "They were making me sick, especially that Everly."

"That's certainly understandable." Perry looked to Coley's waist. "I see you have a gun now."

"It's mine; I've had it for years. I just wasn't wearing it yesterday."

"It looks like a very valuable gun to be using for its intended purpose." Perry peered closer at it. "Isn't it quite old?"

"It works fine," Coley replied.

Perry took special note of his evading of the actual question. "How long have you been staying with Mr. Norman?" he inquired now.

"Not long," Coley grunted. "But it might be for a while yet."

Ray stepped forward, looking even more nervous than Artemus had. "Some of my guests stay on for some time, you know, Mr. Mason," he said. "Mrs. Featherstone is a permanent fixture."

"Yes, I know." Perry looked from him to Coley to James and Artemus. "But Mrs. Featherstone has at least _some_ interest in golf."

Coley's eyes narrowed. "You're awfully curious."

Perry chuckled. "I can't help it. Besides, I'm always interested and concerned in what happens to my friends. Especially if I know they've been having a hard time." He looked back to Ray.

"Honestly, Mr. Mason, these people are nice to have around," Ray told him. "It's not an inconvenience or a burden at all. I really enjoy it." His eyes silently pled with Perry to drop the subject.

And Perry did. Ray seemed sincere about enjoying having them there. Hopefully Paul would be able to find out who they actually were.

"Very well," Perry said now, taking a step back. "I'll leave you to your golf cart lessons." He smiled. "Take care, Ray."

Ray visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Mr. Mason."

The conversation started up almost as soon as Perry got into his car and drove back the way he had come.

"He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd give up easily," Coley frowned.

"He isn't," Ray admitted. "That was a good thing for me in the past."

"And now?" Arte worried. "What if he digs a little deeper and finds out who we are? It can't be that difficult, judging by how quickly you found our information."

Ray let out a huge sigh. "Then we won't have any choice but to take him into our complete confidence."

"Would he keep it confident?" Arte asked.

"Oh yes," Ray was swift to say. "He very strongly believes in privileged communications staying private."

"Well, that's something." But Coley still looked tense. "And if he finds out who I am?"

"He'll still come right here to find out the whole story before he does anything else," Ray promised. "Anyway, he would know he couldn't just go to the police and tell them he thinks an outlaw from 1874 is staying with me."

"That's true," Arte said. "He'd get locked up instead of Rodman here."

"We should continue keeping a low profile anyway," said Jim.

"As much as possible," Ray assured him.

He looked to Arte. "Well, are you ready to try the golf cart now that you see how it works?"

"Am I!" Arte exclaimed. "Mr. Norman, no worry about your lawyer could keep me away. Let's get started!"

Ray chuckled. "Alright then."

Jim half-waved, half-saluted. "Good luck, Arte."

"Luck? I won't need luck. After seeing Rodman handle this thing, it should be a breeze!" Arte declared as he climbed into the driver's seat.

Ray looked a bit concerned, but he got in on the passenger side. Jim watched knowingly.

Just as with Coley, the cart came to life and sped off at full power. Ray gripped the nearest doorway beam, alarm and fear in his eyes. "Slow down!" he exclaimed. "Remember, there's no safety belts and no doors!"

"Why, Mr. Norman, that's how I've always traveled on a horse!" Arte replied. But he slowed down, sheer pleasure and enjoyment spreading across his features at the smoothness of the vehicle's performance.

Jim watched in amusement. Yes, Arte was doing just fine.

Maybe they should invest in those automobile lessons at that.

xxxx

Paul was both sheet-white and clearly bowled over when he entered Perry's office later that day. Perry, just back from court and looking through the casefile, glanced up.

"What is it, Paul?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think you must have," Paul said.

Perry set the folder down. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this!" Paul set another file on Perry's desk, which was curiously picked up. "The fact that those people you talked to couldn't be alive. They have to be actors playing parts."

Perry frowned as he flipped the folder open. Inside, Paul had printed up page after page of information on James West, Artemus Gordon, and Coley Rodman. The accompanying photographs left Perry with no doubt as to the identities of the men he had seen. And their occupations were both intriguing and highly unexpected.

"Secret Service agents," he mused.

"Uh huh. Except for Rodman. He's an outlaw!"

Perry frowned more. "Ray could get in trouble for having him there," he remarked. "If it wasn't for one thing." He was staring in disbelief at the impossible dates. "They're all from the 1870s!"

"And all disappeared," Paul said. "I don't know what's going on here, Perry, but it's _weird._ Too weird for my blood."

"And this is what you say after encountering twin sisters who tried to topple the world in any way possible using their magic box," Perry deadpanned.

Paul threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright! But I thought they were caught and out of the way. Or they _were, _until Flo escaped. Now we've got a problem again. What do you make of it?"

Perry stared at the pictures. "These are definitely the men I saw. There's no question of that."

"But that's impossible!" Paul cried. "You know it and I know it!"

The little quirks Perry had noticed suddenly clicked in his mind. The fascination with a golf cart, the lessons, the comments on horses . . . even the "unique" problem that Ray was helping them with. . . .

"That's it!" he cried.

"What's it?!" Paul retorted. "Perry, I wish you wouldn't speak in riddles like that!"

Perry got up. "There is a way I could have talked with those people without them being ghosts. I need to see Ray right away."

"Wait a minute. Would you let me in on the secret?!" Paul pleaded. "What's going on around here?!"

Perry paused when he was near the door. "I think we may be witnessing a much-theorized, never-before-proved phenomenon," he said. "I'll let you know after I come back. Meanwhile, don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Paul, except to Della."

"Can't you at least give me a hint?!" Paul protested.

"Oh . . . you might try reading H.G. Wells," Perry said as he vanished.

Paul was left gaping after him. "H.G. Wells?!" he echoed to the otherwise empty room. He shook his head in bewilderment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"That took much too long." Ray sighed, leaning back as he finished entering the necessary information on that month's financial report. "I'm sorry about that, but business still has to proceed. Even when I have visitors."

Coley shrugged. "Since I've always considered myself a businessman, I wouldn't expect anything else."

It was late afternoon and they were sitting in Ray's office. Jim and Arte had long ago left for the day in search of the elusive portal, but Coley had wanted to remain behind. He wasn't feeling up to traipsing around the city all day.

It was just as well, Arte had told him. After all, he did not know how to ride a bicycle, while Arte and Jim had made sense of it and were ready to go.

Coley had little interest in the bicycle, he had to admit. Now that he had tried the golf cart and liked it, he wanted to more know about it as well as the next step up—the automobile.

Jane, sitting on his lap, merowed and suddenly had the whim to attempt climbing onto his shoulder. He stiffened in disbelief. "Hey," he scolded. "What kind of crazy stunt are you pulling?" He reached and lifted her back down. "Don't do that!"

A shadow fell across the doorway at that moment. "In my experience, cats always do exactly what they want, no matter what you tell them. Unless, of course, cats are different where you come from, Mr. Rodman."

Both Coley and Ray went stiff. Coley's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Mason?"

Perry entered the room and closed the door behind him, calm and unaffected. "I've heard of fugitives running as far as they can get, but you surely take the prize for the farthest distance." He held out a page printed from the Internet, displaying a photograph, a bit of basic information, and the date Coley had last been seen.

Coley snatched it from him, looking as though he wanted to burn a hole through the paper with his eyes.

Ray got up from the desk in sickened concern, realizing what was happening. "Look, Mr. Mason . . ." he tried to begin.

Perry looked to him. "I trust you have a good reason why you're harboring a fugitive, Ray. But as your friend as well as your attorney, I wish you'd tell me what it is."

"He was hurt," Ray retorted. "He came to me wounded and delirious and I helped him."

Coley crumpled the paper in his hands. "No sane police officer would try to arrest me now, Mason. They'd get put in the crazy house."

"They could easily find this information, same as my private investigator did," Perry said. "So I see you admit to your identity."

"There's not much I can do about that, is there?" Coley retorted. "But I've read about some of your laws. The statute of limitations would have run out on me by now, even if some idiot decided to go to the trouble of arresting and prosecuting me. I'm safe in this time."

Ray nodded. "And the other two, Mr. Mason. They're highly reputable Secret Service agents. If it makes you feel any better, Rodman is technically still their prisoner, even if they don't have jurisdiction in this time."

"I don't see them around now," Perry remarked.

"They don't need to be," Coley retorted. "I haven't committed any crimes in this time, Mason. And I'm not going to."

"You've already done more than enough to receive the death penalty, or at the very least, a life sentence," Perry said. "Most especially the incident involving a fatal germ that you were going to use on thousands of people."

Coley got to his feet, holding Jane this time instead of accidentally causing her to fall. "I'm sick and tired of hearing about that germ," he snarled. "I _never_ agreed to use it. I wouldn't let it get used. I used one that froze people in place for a few hours. That's _all._"

"He's telling the truth, Mr. Mason," Ray pleaded. "Please, don't do this. Coley has been helping the Secret Service agents with a case. One of the agents is going to make a detailed report on Rodman's assistance if they ever get back to their time. His intention is to clear Rodman's name of anything he's been falsely accused of doing, as well as to try to see that he's granted immunity for the help he's given to the United States government. He risked his own life to try to protect one of the agents from a malfunctioning machine. That's how he ended up here in the first place—it sent him! Then it sent everyone else!"

Perry looked to Coley. "Is that true?"

"If you won't believe your client when he says it, why would you believe me?" Coley retorted.

Perry nodded. "You have a valid point. But I would still like to hear you confirm it."

"It's all true," Coley said darkly. "If you wait for West and Gordon, they'll tell you the same thing."

"Perhaps they will," Perry said. "They certainly seemed to be on amiable terms with you this morning. Unless they're perhaps not as upright as they're recorded as being."

"They're completely law-abiding," Coley said. "Showing up here hasn't changed that."

"I would hope not." Perry glanced at Jane, who was meowing at him. "Is the cat yours? It seems to adore you like its owner."

"She's not mine; she's owned by one of Norman's guests. She just comes around." Coley set Jane on the chair.

Perry sighed. "Well, I'm not going to take any action against you. And I admit, it's unlikely that anyone else will. But it is fairly easy to locate your and the agents' records. If you're planning to stay on for a while, you should be aware of that fact. Someone with malicious intent could get hold of that information and use it for a less-than-kind purpose."

"Someone like Everly," Coley said.

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Unless he plans to try to get Ray in trouble for having you here, which I doubt, why would he be interested?"

"Because I stood up for Norman and tried to kick him out," Coley said.

Ray nodded in agreement. "He suspects there's something different about Rodman as opposed to my regular guests," he said, the worry creeping into his voice. "He just isn't sure what."

Perry glanced back and forth between them. "Ray . . . you care about this man, don't you?" he realized.

Ray averted his gaze. "I've been helping him get well," he said. "He understands things no one else has. I like talking with him. We haven't really known each other that long, Mr. Mason, but . . ." He looked up again. "Yes, I care about him."

"And if Everly suspects or learns that fact, you're afraid Everly will try to harm him on those grounds," Perry concluded.

"He would," Ray insisted. "You know how he's threatened to ruin my life. He knows I haven't been close to anyone. He would absolutely pounce on the knowledge that Coley is important to me."

Perry sighed. "Yes, I suppose he might."

He faced Coley. "And what about you, Mr. Rodman? Do you care about Mr. Norman, or are you using him for your own purposes? Taking advantage of his kindness?"

"I'm not using him or taking advantage, Mason," Coley retorted. "But he's right, that we haven't known each other that long. Asking if I care about him isn't a fair question."

"_He_ had an answer," Perry challenged.

"And _I_ don't have to give you one," Coley snapped. "Norman is your client and friend. I'm not either."

"No, you aren't. But because Ray _is_ my client and friend, I want to make sure he's safe." Perry narrowed his eyes. "And when he's associating with known criminals, no matter how old they or their crimes are, surely you understand my concerns."

"I understand. But I don't appreciate being put on the spot."

"It takes him a while to warm up to people, Mr. Mason," Ray said. "But because of what he's said and done for me, I know he won't hurt me. His reputation as being cold and hard was never fully deserved. And all he wants now is to start a new life, an honest life. Please believe us, Mr. Mason! He isn't a danger to anyone, unless they try to make trouble first."

Perry did not look convinced, but he appeared to relax. "I hope you're right, Ray. I hope you haven't been lying to him, Mr. Rodman."

"I haven't told him one lie," Coley answered.

Finally Perry nodded. "I'll hold you to that," he promised. "If I ever find out that you are not what you claim, and that you are using Ray, you _will_ regret it."

Jane meowed in protest.

Ray chuckled, reaching over to pet her. "She knows as much as I do that you can trust Coley, Mr. Mason. I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry."

A knock on the door startled all of them. "Mr. Norman?" came Arte's voice. "We're back. We thought you might like to know what we found. Or didn't find."

Ray swallowed hard, growing tense again. "Y-Yes, Mr. Gordon, I would. But maybe later; Mr. Mason's here now and . . ."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Perry. He crossed the room and opened the door. "Please come in, Mr. Gordon, Mr. West."

Arte blinked, exchanging a look with Jim. "Well, no, we certainly don't want to get in the way of a conference between a lawyer and his client," Arte said. "We'll come back later."

"It's no good, Gordon," Coley growled. "He's figured everything out."

Arte froze. ". . . Oh. Really?" He looked to Perry like a deer caught in the headlights.

"That's right," Perry said. "I know you're not from this time."

Arte stepped into the room, running a hand into his dark curls. "Mr. Mason, we . . . we don't mean any harm," he tried to explain. "We're looking for the way home. That's where Jim and I have been for the last few hours. We didn't have any luck, but we didn't cover much territory and . . ."

Perry held up a hand. "It's alright, Mr. Gordon. I'm not going to cause any trouble for you. I just came down to try to understand what's going on. My detective learned about your time-traveling escapade and told me."

"We'll be out of here as soon as we locate the route back," Jim said. "And once we've rounded up Lucrece Posey and her gang. They're here too."

"And what about Mr. Rodman?" Perry wondered. "Will you be taking him back as well?"

"We don't really know yet," Arte replied with a nervous smile. "But he won't be a problem if he stays. He's been helping us on the case that resulted in us being sent here."

"Yes, so I've been told." Perry kept his expression impassive as he continued. "It was also mentioned that he went so far as to risk his life to protect you."

"He did," Jim spoke. "And Arte is a witness."

"Not just us, either, but Miss Posey and her gang saw it," Arte said. "Not that they'd be especially reputable witnesses, but they wouldn't have any reason to lie about it."

"No, I suppose they wouldn't." Perry moved closer to the door. "Well, gentlemen, it will take some time for me to decide what I think about this. But if I feel that you're trustworthy, and then if you need another ally while you're here, I'll help in whatever way I can."

"Thank you, Sir," Arte said. "We would greatly appreciate it. It might take a bit of the strain off of Mr. Norman here."

"It isn't a strain, really," Ray replied. "It's a nice change of pace from business and more business."

"It's certainly a change," Perry agreed. "I'll leave you now and you can discuss whatever you wish."

Ray hurried over to him. "Mr. Mason, what are you going to do right now?" he exclaimed. "You indicated that you don't trust these people yet. And you say your private detective already knows about them."

"He knows how to keep a secret too," Perry said. "I don't plan to do anything, Ray. I can see you believe in them, and since you've never given your trust easily, that does ease my mind to some extent. But I would still like to be absolutely sure."

"Of course," Ray nodded, trying to relax. "And if you happen to hear anything about something that might be a portal, you'll let us know, won't you?"

"I'll try," Perry said. "But how will I know if it might be a portal?"

"That's a very good question," Arte admitted. "Maybe just let us know about anything that sounds strange and we'll look into it?"

"Fair enough," Perry acknowledged. He grasped the doorknob and turned it. "Good evening."

The group watched him head up the hall. Coley frowned, while Arte shifted nervously and Jim remained deadpan. Ray sighed, sinking into his desk chair.

"You're sure we can trust him," Coley said.

"Yes," Ray nodded. "Whatever else, we can trust him. And if we need his help, he'll be an invaluable ally."

"I believe you, Mr. Norman," said Arte. "My only question is whether he'll come to trust us."

"I think he will," Ray tried to assure him.

He leaned back. "So, you and Mr. West didn't find anything at all?"

"Nothing," Arte sighed. "We really couldn't get very far on those bicycles, either. We don't want to impose and ask you to drive us around, so we keep coming back to the idea that at least one of us needs to learn to drive an automobile."

Jim nodded in agreement. "It seems that in the long run it will probably save us time and money, even if it's somewhat expensive to attend those classes."

"I think you're right," Ray said. "Especially considering the money you'll have to keep doling out for the rented bicycles."

Arte nodded. "So we're going to go to the library and look up driving schools," he announced. "We'll try to pick something not too far away from the club. Is there a modern way to do that, since we're not familiar with the city?"

"Yes, several ways," Ray told him. "Google Maps should serve your purposes fine."

"Ah yes, I did see the Maps option when I was performing those Internet searches," Arte remembered. "Thank you, Mr. Norman. We'll let you know if we need any help."

Ray and Coley watched Arte and Jim depart. Jane also watched for a moment and then meowed, wanting to be picked up.

Coley rolled his eyes and lifted her. "Okay," he muttered. "But only because you're on my chair and I want to sit down."

He did so. Jane purred, snuggling against him.

Ray chuckled. "Mrs. Featherstone should be coming back with her golfing group before long," he said. "You still haven't met her, you know."

Coley shrugged. "The cat always seems to know when she's getting back and goes off to find her. It's not like she has to come here looking for her cat. I haven't had any reason to run into her."

"She still wants to meet you, though," Ray said. "If I don't introduce you two soon, she may think you're deliberately avoiding her." He paused. "Do you feel well enough to meet her? Tonight, perhaps?"

"Maybe. I might as well, I guess. Get it over with."

"It won't be that bad," Ray assured him. "Although she might try to talk your ear off, if you let her."

"That's about what I figured. Lonely old ladies do that." Coley watched Jane reach out a paw, laying it on his shoulder. He let her, but watched suspiciously, not wanting her to try climbing again.

". . . You called me by my first name a couple of times in front of Mason," he said after a moment.

Ray looked down. "Yes, I did," he agreed. "Did that bother you? I hadn't intended to do it, but I guess it just kind of slipped out."

"I suppose I don't mind," Coley said. "I had my gang call me by my first name. I didn't want any formal 'Mr. Rodman' stuff going on, and since I was the leader, I didn't want any disrespectful calls of just plain 'Rodman', either.

"You, you're on equal grounds with me. You can call me pretty much whatever you want."

Ray nodded. "Thank you. And the same goes for me. You can call me what you want, I mean."

Coley nodded too. "I'll do that. Once I figure out what I want. You're 'Norman' to me, but I guess I wouldn't mind calling you 'Ray', sometimes."

Ray smiled. "I'd like that."

Jane merowed in agreement.

"Crazy cat," Coley muttered, as he idly stroked her fur.

xxxx

The sun was setting as Sergei wandered around a corner and nearly plowed into a familiar man. He backed up in surprise.

"Gallito!" he exclaimed.

Gallito looked worried, even as he smiled in greeting. "So we meet at last," he said. "Tell me, Sergei, do you know where the others are?"

"I am still looking," Sergei grumbled, biting into a sandwich.

"We must locate them at once," Gallito declared. "We have a problem."

"There's always problems. What now?"

"Snakes is up to his usual tricks," Gallito informed him. "He has made an alliance with a dangerous woman. She knows the truth of his past and doesn't care. In fact, she thinks they will get along fine."

Sergei frowned. "What do they want with each other?"

"She wants the power to travel through time. He says he will let her organization's scientists study the portal, when they find it. In return, he wants protection from us while he determines how to have us all killed."

Sergei stiffened. "When did you hear this?"

"Yesterday," Gallito replied. "Come; we can't waste any time."

Sergei concurred. "This city is large. It may take many days yet to find them."

They hurried into the twilight.

xxxx

Della and Paul were both waiting for Perry when he returned to the office. Della, who had been listening to a worried and baffled Paul rant, looked up with a start as the door opened. Paul perked up.

"Hello, you two," Perry greeted easily as he crossed the room to his desk.

"Is that all you can say?" Paul cried.

Perry set his briefcase down. "Oh? Is there more?"

"Well, aren't you going to tell us what happened there?" Paul demanded.

Della nodded. "After what Paul told me, you can't just leave us in suspense. That would be cruel."

"Everything is alright," Perry said. "I plan to keep an eye on Ray's friends, but I don't anticipate any trouble from them." He glanced to Paul. "Did you figure out my riddle?"

"About H.G. Wells?" Paul sighed. "Well, I remembered he wrote _The Time Machine_, but . . ."

"Exactly." Perry gave a firm nod. "All of those people are from the past. They vanished in 1874 because they came here."

Della did not seem too surprised. "That's what I thought," she said in triumph.

Paul whirled to gape at her. "But time travel isn't real!" he exclaimed. "It's not even possible!"

"Well, I think Mr. Norman's guests would disagree," Della said.

Perry nodded. "Time travel was never before proved, it's true. But it was never _dis_proved, either. And it seems that now we have confirmed its existence."

Paul rocked back in a daze. "It's unreal," he declared. "And Perry, you say you don't expect any trouble from those people? Even though you know what they are?! Or more precisely, where they're apparently _from?!_" He stared.

"Mr. West and Mr. Gordon just want to find the way back," Perry said. "Mr. Rodman doesn't know what he wants, but he and Ray and the agents all insist he means no harm. I don't know if I believe him, but since Ray does, I want to give him the benefit of a doubt."

Della shook her head in amazement. "So they all admitted that they're . . . not from this time?"

"I suppose they figured they didn't have much choice," Perry mused. "They all admitted it, yes. That is, once I made it clear that I had found information on them that proved it."

Paul winced. "I know we've dealt with some pretty off-the-wall things in our time, but this has got to be the mother lode. Time-travelers?!"

Perry smiled. "You know, Paul, I think the only person who would disbelieve this more than you is Hamilton Burger."

"You're _not_ going to tell him," Paul said, appalled.

"Not now, no," Perry said. "Mainly because I promised Ray it wouldn't go any farther than this office and you and Della. I know I can trust both of you to keep quiet."

"No one will hear it from me," Della vowed.

"Me either," Paul said. "I'm not going to the loony bin with a story like this."

Perry chuckled. "I wonder if there will ever come a time when time travel is a perfectly normal and proven conversation piece."

"Maybe way into the future," Paul conceded. "But not this day."

"No," Perry agreed. "Not this day."

xxxx

"I don't know, Jim. I still don't like the idea of anyone else knowing about us."

Jim and Arte were in their room, preparing for the evening meal. As Arte worked with his neckerchief in front of the mirror, Jim reclined in a chair with a magazine. At Arte's words, he glanced up.

"I don't either, Arte, but there's not much we can do about it now." Setting the magazine aside, Jim eased himself out of the chair. "We'll just have to hope that Mr. Mason is trustworthy."

"Ordinarily that wouldn't be a problem," Arte said. "But we've been burned so many times by people we thought were trustworthy that now I'm just a tad suspicious of almost everyone."

Jim frowned. "I know what you mean." He crossed to the window, gazing out at the oncoming night. "If we tried to make a list of everyone who's betrayed us through the years, we might have trouble bringing it to an end."

"And that's putting it mildly," Arte said. He fell silent.

Jim turned to look at him after a moment. "Are you thinking about Rodman?"

Arte sighed, finally abandoning the mirror. "That _has_ crossed my mind, whether I want it to or not," he said. "Rodman could betray us just as easily as Miss Piecemeal or sweet Amy or any of the rest of them. Somewhere in the back of my mind, logic still tells me I should be wary of him. But . . . I'm not." He threw his hands in the air in resignation. "I'm just not."

Jim nodded. "I know. I don't think I am, either. I've started to see in him what you saw first. I think he's sincere about wanting to start over. And I hope he can, either here or back home."

"Home," Arte repeated. He gazed into the distance. "Right now it's still fresh in our minds, our memories. But what if we can't get back, Jim? All of that will fade, won't it? It will seem like another lifetime, and either that world or this one will start to feel like a dream—untouchable, unreal."

"I suppose, Arte." Jim looked out at the mountains above them. "I still believe there's a way back."

"So do I, but we have to consider the possibility that . . . that just maybe there isn't." Arte came to the window too. "What would you think about living out the rest of your life here, away from almost everyone you've ever known?"

Jim hesitated, seriously considering the query. "I could get by," he said then. "I'd have to, if there wasn't any other choice. But I wouldn't like it."

Arte nodded. "I know what you mean. And in spite of all the wonderful things this place has to offer, I wouldn't like it either. I keep thinking about everyone back there and wondering how they're doing and hating how we must be making them all worry about now."

"Colonel Richmond must be going out of his mind," Jim remarked.

"And all of our family and friends." Arte sighed, turning away from the window. "I just don't know what to do, Jim."

Jim looked to him. "Arte, there's really nothing we _can_ do. Not that we aren't already doing, that is."

"I know, I know." Arte glanced to some printouts on the table. "I'll be taking that driving class, anyway. And maybe, if there is a way home, that will help us find it that much quicker."

"And in the meantime, you'll be enjoying yourself driving one of those fancy automobiles," Jim smiled.

"You know it," Arte declared. "I'll just need one to practice on. I hate to ask Mr. Norman for his, but . . ."

Jim shrugged. "There's probably an old automobile on the grounds somewhere. We'll ask him at dinner."

Arte relaxed, looking relieved. "Good idea."

Jim shrugged. "I always try."

xxxx

Pinto sighed wearily, pushing back his hat as he leaned against a lamppost. He and the others had been searching almost all day for their missing comrades, without success. By now he was exhausted, as he imagined Lucrece and the rest were as well.

"Where did those two get themselves?" he muttered to the night air.

As if in response, the breeze blew the familiar scent of a sandwich his way. He turned, just in time to see Sergei and Gallito crossing a street. Sergei was holding a large sandwich, while another was visible in a paper sack.

Pushing himself away from the lamppost, Pinto strolled to the curb to meet them as they came across. "Well, look what we have here," he grinned.

Both Sergei and Gallito stared at him with a mixture of amazement and disbelief. "Pinto! Where have you been?" Gallito exclaimed. "Do you know where the others are?"

"They're where I've been," Pinto said. "Come on and I'll take you to them. Lucrece has been itching to have a board meeting."

"Has there been a new development?" Sergei wondered.

"Some," Pinto nodded. "I'll tell you all about them while we're going back. I've had it with walking for tonight, though. I'm getting us a cab."

"That will be fine," Gallito said. "And I have a development to speak of as well. It's bad news for all of us, I'm afraid."

Pinto frowned. "Lucrece won't like that. Can't say as I do, either."

"You will like it even less when you know that Snakes is involved," Sergei growled.

Pinto hailed a cab before jerking back to look at Sergei. After searching the other's eyes he turned away, watching the yellow automobile maneuver towards the curb. "It's not much of a surprise; I knew he was up to somethin'." He started to smirk. "Well . . . maybe this'll give me a chance to properly pay him back for before."

"If he doesn't pay all of us back first," Gallito said grimly. "He may have the resources of a powerful criminal organization available to him at any time."

"Then we'll just have to be quicker on our feet," Pinto said. "We're not letting Snakes take us down, no matter who he's got working with him."

The cab arrived and he hauled open the door, climbing inside. Sergei and Gallito followed, studying the vehicle in amazement and awe.

"You have money for this time?" Sergei said.

"Lucrece saw to that," Pinto said.

The cab driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "This time?" he blinked.

"It's nothin'," Pinto said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Mrs. Featherstone was an elderly but still spry septuagenarian. When Ray and Coley approached her cabin and Ray knocked on the door, they could hear her shuffling about as she hastened to answer.

"She plays golf every day?" Coley said with more than a bit of disbelief. In his arms, Jane reached out with a paw to touch the door.

"Every day," Ray said. "She always finds a different group to go with." He chuckled. "They always wonder at first if she can keep up with them. And they always get a big surprise."

"I bet," Coley grunted.

The door opened and Mrs. Featherstone looked from one to the other in delighted surprise. "Mr. Norman!" she exclaimed. "Oh, and Long Jane Silver!" She held out her arms for her beloved cat.

Coley handed Jane to her, cringing at the ridiculous name.

"We thought we'd bring her by tonight, Mrs. Featherstone," Ray told her. "May I present Coley Rodman. Coley, this is Felicia Featherstone."

Coley nodded, taking a step back.

Mrs. Featherstone beamed, stroking Jane's fur. "Of course, you'd have to be Mr. Rodman," she declared. "Long Jane Silver loves to be around people, but she won't let just anyone hold her." She held out a hand. "I'm so happy to finally meet you."

Coley shook her hand. "I don't know why your cat likes me," he said honestly. "She just showed up the night I came here and kept hanging around."

"She has a definite mind of her own," Mrs. Featherstone said proudly. "But what are we all doing standing around here? Come inside for a few minutes!"

Coley looked to Ray for help, certain he knew what "a few minutes" would turn into. Ray looked back before facing Mrs. Featherstone again.

"Just for a few minutes, Mrs. Featherstone," he said. "There's still work to be done today."

"Work, work. You need to relax more, Mr. Norman!" Mrs. Featherstone turned and headed inside. "I don't know what you do all day in that office of yours. When's the last time you played a round of golf? I'd like to know!"

Ray followed her inside, with Coley trailing after him. "It's been a while," he admitted.

She set Jane down on a chair. "Ah, there's nothing like a good game of golf to make the whole world seem right again!" she declared. "My husband was a pro in his day. You see all of those trophies, Mr. Rodman?" She gestured to the mantle. "They're all his, every last one!"

"That's nice," Coley said. But he was thinking that few things could be as stressful and aggravating as a game of golf.

"Do you play?" Mrs. Featherstone chirped.

Coley started. "Me? No. No, I don't find it a good way to spend my time."

"Oh, such a shame." She tilted her head regretfully as she looked at him. "I was hoping I could convince you to play a round with me. When you're feeling all better, of course."

"Sorry, I don't think so." Coley glanced at Ray. "Maybe Mr. Norman would like to. I saw all those trophies in his office."

Ray froze, but then slowly nodded. "Perhaps," he said. "It's been so long, though."

"Then there's no time like the present to pick it up again!" Mrs. Featherstone encouraged. "Yes, let's do that! Shall we say tomorrow at four?"

"Well, I . . ." Ray shoved his hands in his pockets. "I really should check my schedule. . . ."

". . . Come to think, I should check mine, too!" Mrs. Featherstone realized. "I probably already have an engagement. Oh well, nevermind! You can come with us."

"Maybe," Ray said with a smile.

Jane meowed.

"I can't take Jane golfing, unfortunately," Mrs. Featherstone said. "She just wants to play with the ball."

"Yes, that's typical cat behavior," Ray said.

"True, but Jane isn't a typical cat," Mrs. Featherstone responded with a twinkle in her eye.

"I'll give you that," Coley grunted.

It was over an hour later when Ray and Coley stepped outside and bade Mrs. Featherstone and Jane Good Evening.

"Well, what did you think?" Ray asked, casting a glance at the other man.

Coley shook his head. "It was about what I thought would happen. Does that woman ever stop talking?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she talks in her sleep," Ray chuckled. "But in all seriousness, she's a good woman. She just wants companionship."

"Yeah, I could tell."

"And she's very active for her age. It's impressive."

"True." Coley looked to him. "Are you really going to go golfing with her?"

"Probably, since you suggested it." Ray's look turned slightly accusatory.

"Sorry. I figured it was something you liked."

"I do," Ray said quickly.

"And . . . I guess I didn't want to let her down completely," Coley mumbled.

Ray started to smile. "She already got under your skin, eh?"

"No," Coley retorted. "She just looked so disappointed that I . . . oh, for Pete's sake."

Ray laughed. "It's easy to become fond of the old girl."

"I guess."

"So," Ray said after a moment, "I'm guessing you must have played golf at least once, to know you don't like it."

"Yeah. Once. And I may be a good shot with a gun, but I'm useless with a golf club. By the time I quit I was ready to break the thing in half."

Ray winced. "Yes, golf probably isn't your game."

"You think?" Coley responded with dripping sarcasm.

He paused. "So, is there a reason why you haven't played in a long time, if you like it?"

Ray heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that one of the last times I participated in a tournament was when I had the idea to start blackmailing someone."

"Someone there?"

"Yes." Ray ran his hand into his hair. "He was rich and powerful and I was right at a point where I wanted—needed—more money than I was earning at the time, with my first golf club. He won the tournament and got the prize money, so I got the idea to dig up some dirt on him and hold it over his head. I never let him know my real identity. I frightened him out of his mind and bled him dry."

"But he knew who you were later, didn't he?"

"Yes, when the story all came out and I quietly left to come out here." Ray sighed. "And then after what that witch did to me, I guess I felt sort of guilty to be playing golf. It brought back those memories of how it all began."

"But you still decided to run a golf club," Coley pointed out.

"The people who had taken over the building were willing to sell it back to me," Ray replied. "It was originally mine; I had legitimately built it up from nothing and made it successful. I was proud of that, and I didn't know what kind of job I would do without it, so I jumped at the chance to reclaim it."

Coley nodded. "So maybe it's time to leave those old memories behind and move on. Even if it's just something as simple as golf, if you're letting guilt induced by Portman take over, aren't you letting her win in some small way?"

Ray frowned, considering that. "I probably am," he admitted. "I know I've done wrong in my life, and I can't forget that, but I don't want to give Portman any sense of triumph, either."

"So go with Mrs. Featherstone tomorrow," Coley said. "Maybe you'll have a good time."

Ray nodded, looking both thoughtful and encouraged now. "I'll do that," he said.

xxxx

Arte leaned back in the library's chair, satisfied at last.

"There!" he proclaimed. "James, my boy, I have found the perfect driving school. It's only a few miles away from the club. And there's a bus stop right outside the club's boundaries. Bus fare looks to be a lot cheaper than continuing to rent that bicycle and riding it to the school every day."

Jim nodded in approval. "It probably is."

"What will you be doing while I'm taking those classes, though?" Arte wondered.

"I'll think of something," Jim said. "Maybe I should keep the one bike and keep looking for the portal."

"Come to think of it, maybe I should keep mine after all, at least until I have my learner's permit," Arte frowned. "The classes are only about an hour and a half. I could help search during other times of the day."

"Don't you need to study?" Jim raised an eyebrow.

Arte frowned. "That's true," he remembered. "There's some test I need to take before I can even get my learner's permit."

"So you should just worry about that."

Arte finally nodded. "Okay, Jim, if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Jim leaned back too.

"I wonder what happened to Sergei," Arte mused after a moment. "That warehouse district on the waterfront is huge."

Jim nodded. They had gone looking for him in the approximate area they had mentioned for him to search, but without finding the slightest hint of a trace. No one remembered seeing a stern man constantly eating a sandwich, so the only conclusion they could reach was that they had looked for him in the wrong place.

Coley had confirmed that the warehouse he had been held in had not been at the docks, but inland somewhere. He did not know where and he had no desire to find it again, but Jim and Arte did not expect that from him. They had learned of a couple of warehouse districts not too far from the club and figured it had been in one of those, but since they had determined their first mission was to find the portal they had not searched extensively for Pinto's warehouse.

"Come to think of it, Jim, can you imagine Lucrece Posey living in a warehouse?"

Jim looked to Arte. "Not unless she refurbished it the same way she did with the funeral parlor in Justice," he said.

"Uh huh. And she probably wouldn't have the money or the time for that."

"So she and Pinto, and maybe the rest of the gang, are likely somewhere else." Jim gazed thoughtfully out the window. "The question is where."

"They probably either had some money on them and Miss Posey had the same idea to sell the old coins as we did . . ."

"Or else they stole some modern currency somewhere," Jim finished.

"And since we haven't heard about any robberies being committed by people dressed like they're from other times or places, it's probably the former," Arte said.

"Probably." Jim played with a pencil on the desk. "That would mean they could be in almost any motel, hotel, or bed and breakfast in the city."

"Or possibly even a house, depending on how they were fixed for funds," Arte rejoined. "And we also have to consider that they might not have used their real names, since they know we'll be after them."

Jim nodded. "One thing is certain, Arte. If and when we do find a portal, our next task isn't going to be any easier."

"And that's the understatement of the year," Arte declared.

He paused. "You know, coming to think of it, we don't even know what Pinto's real name is. It _can't_ be _that._"

"In our time, probably not," Jim deadpanned. "But in this day and age, I'm not sure I'd be that surprised, after that article you found about some of the decade's strangest baby names."

"That was a weird one," Arte said, shaking his head. "Can you imagine naming a baby Hashtag?"

"It sounds like a dog's name, and even that would be odd," said Jim.

Arte nodded. "But I'm not sure anything tops the couple who wanted to name their child this symbol on the computer keyboard." He pointed to the A with the long tail. "I'm telling you, Jim, this is a strange world."

"But still interesting," Jim intoned.

"Yes, still interesting." Arte stood to pick up the printout of the directions and map to the driving school.

xxxx

Lucrece crossed to the window and pulled the edge of the curtain back when she heard the cab. "Pinto is back," she announced. "And he's brought our missing board members."

She turned back to face the others. "We're going to have a board meeting without delay. Gather around the table in the dining room."

Brutus and Cyril obediently went to the table and sat down. The front door opened, admitting the arriving members. Pinto strolled in first, taking the key out of the lock. "We're back," he announced.

Lucrece stepped out to meet him, a trace of a smile on her lips. "Yes, so I see."

"They were out wandering around downtown," Pinto explained. His eyes were sober. "They've got some bad news for all of us."

Lucrece frowned, looking past Pinto to Sergei and Gallito. "Then come and tell us all about it," she ordered them. "We don't need any trouble."

"We have got it anyway," Sergei growled through a mouthful of food. "Snakes has found a new friend and wants us all destroyed!"

"And his friend is the same caliber of person," Gallito said. "She wishes to betray her organization and take it over herself, through ways other than promotion over time. I overheard them plotting and was going to tell her that Snakes had betrayed us, instead of the other way around as Snakes was telling. But then she learned the truth from her men and wasn't bothered in the least."

Lucrece had not called the meeting to order, but she was too troubled by these revelations to bother. She sat at the head of the table, with Pinto and Brutus on either side of her as before. "Where did you see them together?" she queried.

"In a club downtown," Gallito replied. "It was called _Play It Again, Sam_. I do not know the significance of the strange name. But she said her organization owns the club."

"Ah. Then, gentlemen, we have the perfect advantage in this situation." Lucrece leaned back, her eyes gleaming. "We have only to arrange a meeting with this traitorous woman's superiors and inform them of the plot—the _entire_ plot, including her planned betrayal. They may become our allies in this affair, if they believe us. We need to know more about this woman and what is at her command."

"A great deal, from what she indicated to Snakes," Gallito said. "She already has quite a position of power within the organization."

"And what if they do not believe that she will betray them?" Brutus frowned. "We must have proof to back up our claims."

Lucrece nodded. "Unless they would simply accept our vouching for Gallito's truthfulness," she mused.

"Would you, Miss Posey, were the situation reversed?" Brutus blinked.

"I would accept it, but with a few grains of salt." Lucrece leaned forward. "I want consolidated crime to eventually gain the status of all criminals trusting each other. They would need to, for in our perfect world they would all be part of one organization. However, even here and now, it would be wise for fellow businessmen and women to believe in each other's word. And still, knowing the greed of all criminals, including us, it would be foolish to believe implicitly."

She frowned more once the words were out of her mouth. With that in mind, really, none of them could trust each other without any reservations whatsoever. From the way Pinto was looking at her, he was thinking of it as well.

Of course, it had always been in their minds. Lucrece wished that all doubts could be removed, but even she knew that right now, at least, it was not possible. But some were always worth less trust than others. She had suspected Snakes of possible treachery long before he tried to kill her.

She cleared her throat, awkward at the silence that had developed. "And it would especially be unwise when we know so little of this other organization. They would likely feel the same about us." She looked to Gallito. "Did this woman ever mention their name?"

"_Si_, she did. She referred to them as F.O.W.L.—The Fiendish Organization for World Larceny. And her name is Florence." Gallito held up a newspaper. "She has been the subject of a frantic police search."

Lucrece took the paper. "Yes, I read about Florence," she mused, studying the picture. "It surprises me somewhat that Snakes chose her, considering what she is wanted for. He must know that he might be plunging himself into a worse situation with her than he would be with us."

"You'd figure he'd have to, alright," Pinto spoke up.

Lucrece gazed into the distance, thoughtful. "I wonder if we might be able to use that to our advantage as well."

"Perhaps, if we can find them first," Sergei said.

Lucrece looked to Gallito. "They were not going to stay at the club?"

Gallito shook his head. "I do not know. We drove past in the cab, but the club was dark."

"Strange, for a club that hopes to make any sort of profit," Lucrece remarked. "Most of their patrons would come at night."

"We would have gone in, but we thought it better to come here first and discuss it," Sergei said.

"Yes, it would have been foolhardy to go in by yourselves." Lucrece considered their problem. "Alright. I make the motion that we will each do what we can to learn more about Florence and F.O.W.L. Then we will try to fully launch our counterattack. We have an advantage in that Florence and Snakes don't know we're aware of them. Nor do they know where we are. That should give us the upper hand for a while."

Brutus nodded. "I second the motion."

Pinto nodded as well, as did the rest of the board members, murmuring in approval.

"Are there any other matters of business?" Lucrece wondered.

They all looked at each other, questioning in silence, but no one spoke. After a moment Lucrece rapped the butt of her gun on the table. "Then this meeting is dismissed. Sergei, Gallito, Brutus will demonstrate for you the modern technology we have at our disposal in this house."

Everyone stood, wandering off in their separate directions. Sergei and Gallito began to explore, with Brutus as their guide.

Pinto lingered. "I thought you might call on me, since you and I were here the longest."

She shrugged, not facing him. "Brutus learns fast. You know I've never regulated such tasks to you, since you so often prefer your silence."

"Well, you know I'm not sure I want to be quiet now. I started wondering how much you and I trust each other."

"Yes, I imagined you would get around to that." Still not turning around, Lucrece adjusted her chair's position at the table and then gripped the top of it, frowning, contemplating. "You heard what I said, Pinto. And unfortunately, since so far it isn't possible for all criminals to trust in each other, there should never be any exceptions."

"That doesn't mean there aren't anyway." Pinto laid his hands on her shoulders, gently, and began to rub along her upper arms. She tensed, but allowed it.

"What do you want me to say?" she snapped. "That I trust you? That I know you of all people would never betray me?"

"You do, don't you?"

Lucrece shut her eyes. Yes, she knew, had known for years. And she was sure Pinto was aware that she knew, even though it had never been spoken aloud. She had not wanted to give voice to it, or to any acknowledgment that would make her vulnerable. She still had not brought herself to say that she loved him.

"What about you?" she retorted. "Do you trust me? Can you honestly say I would never turn against you?"

"Not if I never give you reason to. It would go against all your code of honor."

She sighed, allowing him to hold her but feeling herself unable to say what he wanted. "Pinto . . ."

"If you can't say it, it's alright." He sighed softly. _We both know the answer, deep down._

"Why do you think you know me so well?"

"Because," Pinto replied without hesitation, "I couldn't really say I love you if I didn't."

Lucrece smirked, darkly. "You're awfully philosophical at times."

"I think about all kinds of things when I'm quiet," Pinto returned. "Not just how to cause pain."

"Yes, I suppose you do," Lucrece said. "I wouldn't have wanted you as my second-in-command if you had such a one-track mind."

Pinto leaned down, kissing her cheek. "I know."

xxxx

It was late afternoon the next day that Coley took over the receptionist's computer, typing as both a favor to Ray and as a test to himself. He wanted to pull his own weight at the club, no matter how long he stayed, and he wondered if using the computer for some of the necessary work would be something he would be interested in doing.

Jane stretched out on the marble counter next to the computer, half-closing her eyes in bliss and thumping her fluffy tail on the cool surface. Coley wasn't sure if the loudest motor he was hearing was inside the computer or inside the cat.

He glanced up at her. "You've got a weird sense of what's fun. Do you know that?"

Jane just continued to purr.

The door suddenly opening jerked Coley to attention. Jason Everly was standing there, alone this time, but just as angry and determined to make trouble.

"So you're still around," he greeted. He stayed near to the doorway, but that did nothing to ease Coley's mind.

"What do you care?" Coley retorted, narrowing his eyes.

"I happen to know you haven't been playing golf at all," Everly said. "You barely even go outside. You must have some other interest here."

"And it's none of your business," Coley said flatly. "For you to know anything at all, you must have someone on the inside, spying for you."

"I might," Everly said, "but you won't find out who."

"We will sooner or later." Coley glared. "Meanwhile, Norman took out a restraining order on you. You're breaking it."

Ignoring him, Everly fixed his attention toward Jane, who was looking to him with a low, displeased rumble in her throat. "You and Ray both love this cat, don't you?"

The maniacal tone to his voice and in his eyes immediately set Coley on edge. He got to his feet. "What are you getting at, Everly?"

Jane stood too, hissing and arching her back. Her tail fluffed to twice its size.

Everly started to reach into his jacket. "If I shot it, how do you think Ray would feel?"

Coley had his gun out first. "You wouldn't live to find out," he retorted. "I'd shoot you before you could shoot her."

"You'd kill me over a cat?" Everly's eyes glimmered.

"Do you really want to chance it and find out?" Coley gripped his weapon without so much as a hint of wavering. "Ray told me you have two kids. Wouldn't they be proud if they heard what you'd done? Imagine—their father's a big, brave animal killer, so much a man that he shoots down kitty cats to get at the person he blames for how his life's turned out. Wouldn't that be something for them to brag about at school? I bet all the other kids would be so impressed."

"_Shut up!"_ Everly roared. He pulled his hand out of his jacket, complete with gun. He pointed it at Coley.

Coley shot it out of his hand in the same instant. "No. _You _shut up." He gestured to the door. "Get out of here, Everly. Just the sight of you makes me sick. If you weren't so bent on wallowing in self-pity and hate, maybe you could put your life back together. But you're not that smart, are you? Norman may have broke your life apart, but you could put it back together again, just like Norman's been doing with his shattered life. See, Norman's more of a real man than you'll ever be. He's not a coward."

Everly's eyes flamed with hatred. He reached for his gun, but Coley shot at his hand. "Forget your gun," he ordered. "Leave. Norman will press charges on you for this. And I think I might, too. It would do my heart good to see you get locked up. Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing you dead, but Norman doesn't need a scandal like a killing right in his club if it doesn't have to be that way."

Everly straightened, holding his now-scratched and bleeding hand. "I'll get you too, like I'll get Ray," he snarled. "Maybe it's you I should kill, not the cat. That would crush Ray even worse, wouldn't it?"

"We haven't known each other that long." Coley glowered at his new enemy. "And if you kill me, you'll be dead too. My last act would be putting a bullet in you."

Everly backed up to the door enough that he could reach out and grab the handle. "To our final fight, then," he said darkly. "May it be a river running red with blood."

"I bet your kids would be proud of _that,_ too," Coley said with dripping sarcasm.

Everly departed without a reply. Furious, Coley pressed the button that alerted the security guards.

"Jason Everly isn't supposed to be anywhere on this property," he snapped when they arrived. "You're not doing your jobs well. Norman pays you too much." He pointed at the door. "Make sure Everly isn't going to hang around."

The guards nodded, nervously. "Y-Yes, Sir." They trouped out after the madman.

Coley walked to the door, peering out to make certain they caught up with the wretch. He would go out himself if they lost him, but he hoped they were competent enough to handle this much. He did not want to be Ray's one-man security force.

A weight against his legs made him look down. Jane was leaning against him, rubbing and purring. Muttering, Coley replaced his gun in the holster, picked up Everly's and set it on the counter, and reached for the adoring feline.

"I couldn't let anything happen to you," he grumbled as he straightened, Jane in his arms. "Mrs. Featherstone would never forgive Ray."

Jane purred, nuzzling his cheek.

"Oh, what's the use." He rolled his eyes. "You've got a different explanation and you're sticking with it."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Arte was the first to run across Coley that evening. But while he could tell that Coley was tense about something, Arte was concerned about a new problem of his that had started to sprout. And, perhaps, curious about Coley's reaction.

"Say, Rodman," he said as he strolled over to the marble receptionist's desk, "it occurred to me that in order to take any driving classes, I'll have to fill out a form that will include the simplest of information. For most people, it wouldn't pose a problem at all. But in my case, it's not going to be easy to get around the matter of my birth year. In fact . . ." He glowered at the papers in his hand. "It will be all but impossible. I'm going to have to give a false year."

"Yeah, that's about all you can do," Coley agreed, pushing away from the desk.

"And it's not just that," Arte frowned. "They're probably going to want an identification card of some description."

"Could be. I guess you'll have to forge that, too."

Arte shook his head. "I hate to do it, even though I had to invent fraudulent identification when I was going undercover. This is different, since we're not officially on an assignment here."

"It's still kind of an assignment," Jim said as he appeared. "We felt we had to investigate Colonel Vautrain's time traveling device, in case it posed a threat to the United States. And now while in the middle of stopping Dr. Faustina, who is definitely a threat, we ended up sent here. Anything we do to get back home and arrest her is in the line of duty."

"You're right, of course, James," Arte relented. "And I'll do whatever is necessary."

Jim nodded in approval. "I know you will."

Arte looked back to Coley. "And Rodman, you look more tense than I've seen you since we first teamed up. What's wrong?"

Coley let out his breath in frustration. "It's something I need to talk to Norman about." He paused. "But I guess maybe you need to know at least some of it.

"Jason Everly showed up here again. And he's out of his head."

Arte cringed. "That doesn't sound good."

"Especially when he's willing to kill a cat to get back at Norman."

Arte's jaw dropped. _"WHAT?!"_

Jim's eyes narrowed.

"She's safe, don't worry. And I don't think Everly will try to go after her again. He thinks he's found a better target." Coley walked past them to the hall.

Arte's stomach turned as he watched Coley go. "Jim, do you think he means . . ."

"Himself," Jim finished.

Arte nodded. "That's what I was afraid of."

"So his life is wanted by the law in our time and by an insane madman here," Jim said.

"Somehow I think he'd rather take on one madman than the entire law enforcement of the United States," said Arte. "In fact, who wouldn't?" He sighed. "I hope I can get that report submitted."

"If we can get back, it's a sure thing that you will," Jim said. "Maybe what you should hope for instead is that the petition for immunity will be granted once your report is read."

"I hope for that too," Arte agreed.

He glanced down the opposite hall. "Well, I guess I'd better go forge some papers."

Jim pretended to look thoughtful. "You know, that sounds strange out of context."

Arte swatted him on the arm. "Oh, you."

xxxx

Coley frowned to himself as he stood and stared at Ray's office. The golfing trophies were certainly numerous, just as he had remembered. Ray really had loved playing the sport, once upon a time.

Maybe he was loving it again now. He and Mrs. Featherstone had been gone a long time. Coley knew they were alright; after the security guards had made sure that Everly was gone, he had ordered them to check on Ray. He had been at a hole far along the green, so the game might be over soon.

Coley dreaded that. What was he going to tell Ray about what had happened?

It was tempting to say nothing, especially if Ray entered in high spirits. But for his own safety he needed to know. There wasn't any other way.

Jane, sitting on Ray's desk, looked over at Coley and meowed.

He glanced back. "What's up with you?" he wondered. It was almost as though she knew he was upset about something. And knowing Mrs. Featherstone, she would likely say it was true.

"Rodman!"

He looked up with a start as Ray strolled into the office, a golf club slung over his shoulder. He was wearing those strange golfing clothes and a bright smile.

"You were right," Ray told him. "Getting out and playing a round of golf is probably the best thing I could have done today."

It suddenly occurred to Coley that seeing Ray smile was a very rare thing. And even though he knew he would have to tell Ray about the afternoon's events before long, he decided to try to hold off for the moment.

"Yeah?" he replied.

Ray nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. "I wasn't happy about it at the time, but now I have to thank you for volunteering me."

Coley jumped. "That's good it worked out," he said.

"I feel ready to tackle any new problem." Ray walked to the desk. "Hello, Jane." He stroked the cat's head.

Jane meowed in greeting and purred.

"You might have to do that soon," Coley said. "With Everly hanging around making threats."

"Yes, I suppose," Ray sighed. "If only he would just give up and go back to his family. If only they would _ask_ him to go back."

"That sounds like a nightmare for his family."

Ray shrugged, still petting Jane. "He was a good man once. Maybe if they would believe in him, he could be again."

"Maybe. But that sounds more like some kid's fairytale than anything else."

"It does, doesn't it," Ray mused. "Although what happened to me sounds like some twisted fairytale too. Or maybe a sci-fi novel."

". . . Sci-fi?"

"Science-fiction." Ray gazed out the window. "And just imagine, now it's science-fact."

Coley walked over to him. "I guess it is. But nevermind that. Are you ready to eat?"

"Just about." Ray turned and looked to him. "Rodman, I saw the security guards checking on me out on the green. And you've been acting odd since I walked in. I get the feeling you're trying to tell me something. Or maybe trying _not _to tell me, but you can't hide your feelings. Something must have happened while I was gone."

Coley watched Jane walk across the edge of the desk, back and forth in front of Ray. "I just don't like Everly."

Ray watched her too. "I know he wasn't very pleasant when he barged in."

"He never is."

Ray sobered. "He was here again, wasn't he?"

Coley gave up. "Yeah. Threatening you like before. I kicked him out."

Ray threw his hands in the air. "How does he keep getting past security?! That's what I'd like to know!"

Coley hesitated. Just the fact that Everly had been by was not such a shock, but the rest of Coley's news would be. "He claims he has someone on the inside, feeding him information. He wouldn't say who. It's probably someone in security and they let him slip by."

"Oh no." Ray sank into his chair. "This couldn't get much worse."

"It does." Coley walked to him. "He wanted to shoot the cat."

The color drained from Ray's face. "He . . . Jane?"

Jane held out a paw to him and he blankly took it, cradling it in his hand.

"He's just out of his head, Norman," Coley said, leaning on the desk with both hands. "There's no logic behind what he wants."

"No, I suppose not." Ray looked to him. "It's because of you that Jane is safe."

"I did what I had to," Coley told him.

Ray took Jane in his arms, holding her close. "And I'm thankful," he said. "I know Mrs. Featherstone will be, too."

"I'm sorry I had to tell you." Coley sat on the edge of the desk. "I was going to wait."

"No." Ray shook his head. "I don't want anyone to lie to spare my feelings. And if he threatened Jane, there's no telling who's in danger now."

"Anyone he can hurt."

"You're right. Well, I've definitely got that big problem to tackle that I was talking about." Ray set Jane on his lap and reached for the phone. "And I'm smart enough to know that we can't handle this on our own. I'm calling Mr. Mason and the police."

He paused. "I suppose the Homicide division will be investigating. Who knows; I may end up meeting that younger double of mine yet."

xxxx

Within an hour the club was swarming with newcomers. Perry was deeply concerned over the tale and arrived in the company of several Homicide detectives. A young but efficient Lieutenant, Steve Drumm, began to question Coley and Ray, while others spread across the club as they interviewed staff members and guests alike.

Mrs. Featherstone was horrified and outraged over Everly's threats against Jane. But at the same time, she was ecstatic and proud over Coley protecting "her baby." She began to lavish him with attention and praise that soon embarrassed him.

"Look," he said at last, "I didn't want Everly shooting up the joint. And there wouldn't have been any point in killing Jane. She's not mixed up in this."

What he did not say was that he had already seen far more than his share of animal cruelty from Dr. Kirby. Witnessing Everly willing and eager to kill Jane had put him in a bad mood because of those memories, as well as because he did not want anything to happen to Jane in specific.

Jim and Arte became involved in the commotion as well, as they roamed the buildings and the grounds in search of both Everly and his mysterious spy.

"Rodman is probably right, that it's someone in security," Arte frowned. "And surely he would know better than to do something to reveal his identity, with all this going on." He sighed. "But ah, it's too bad that he _wouldn't_ slip up."

"Maybe Everly slipped up by letting Rodman know there's a spy," Jim suggested. "Now everyone will be on the alert. Eventually someone will see the truth."

"Yes, but will it be before or after someone gets hurt?" Arte wondered, a hint of both bitterness and fear in his voice. "We know Everly's after Rodman now, even though Rodman won't say anything about it. And to even want to kill that sweet, innocent cat . . ." He curled his fingers in the air, his eyes flashing with anger.

Jim nodded. "I heard Lieutenant Drumm mention something about having a police guard at Mrs. Featherstone's cabin, since she could easily be harmed if Everly decides to come back and shoot Jane."

"Good," Arte declared.

"And there's going to be a couple in the main building too." Jim glanced towards it from where they were walking on the green. "Specifically in the employees wing, where we're staying. Rodman didn't say anything about being a target himself, but Mr. Norman is apparently still worried that it will be the case. He wants Rodman to be protected."

"And we'll be on the alert too," Arte vowed. "You know, Jim, Mr. Norman has been taking this a lot better than I thought he would or could, considering what he's already been through."

"Maybe after that experience, Everly can't faze him as much," Jim said. "Or maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet."

"Or maybe he's even hiding how distressed he is," Arte mused. "He's pulled himself together marvelously from what Portman made him suffer. I only got the slightest hint of how troubled he really is deep down when I saw him trying to calm Rodman."

Jim nodded in agreement. "If he could help it, I'm sure he wouldn't want to show how upset he is. Although, you can see his outrage over Jane being threatened."

Arte sighed, heavily. "I don't know, Jim. I knew we'd have to deal with Miss Posey and her wild and weird crew of misfit outlaws, but I never once considered that maybe we'd pick up a mad criminal from this time period too."

"Strange things seem to follow us everywhere, Arte," Jim replied.

"And I won't even be here some of the time now," Arte bemoaned. "Oh, not that I'd want to give up the classes, but I hate to leave in the face of such an uproar."

"Don't worry about it. Just focus on learning all about the automobile and how to operate it." Jim looked out at the dark, late-autumn night. "Everything will be alright here."

At least, he certainly _hoped_ so. He knew as well as Arte that it could not be guaranteed. But he tried to remain positive for encouragement.

"Oh, and I suppose if something starts to go wrong, you'll try to tackle it single-handed?" Arte frowned, looking to him.

"There shouldn't be any need for that. Only one person is the spy, and it might not even be anyone in security. If something starts to go wrong, the guards will be there too."

Arte sighed. "I suppose."

"What's there to worry about?" Jim said lightly.

Arte's look turned pointed. "Plenty."

Jim did not respond, but as he gazed into the darkness where Arte could not see, concern flickered in his eyes.

xxxx

Lucrece narrowed her eyes, gazing at _Play It Again, Sam_ from the back of the cab. Tonight, unlike last night, the nightclub seemed to be open and in full swing.

She had come in a yellow evening gown that she had purchased for the occasion. Snakes had only rarely seen her in feminine clothes, but never something from this modern world. And with that and a contemporary hairstyle, she was certain it was disguise enough for her to figure out what was going on in there.

"What do you know of this place?" she demanded of the driver.

He shrugged. "It's one of those places that tries to make like the past. They're fixed up like the 1940s. I've never been in there, but I hear that it's popular with people who were alive back then as well as with younger people who like the era."

"I know all of that," Lucrece retorted. "What I want to know is, Who owns and operates it?"

"Gee, I don't know." The man averted his eyes. "Some people say it's part of some criminal syndicate, but nothing's ever been proved."

Lucrece nodded. "Wait here," she ordered.

Brutus looked to her. "Are you certain you will be alright, Miss Posey?"

"I doubt I'd be recognized on-sight, even if Snakes has given Florence pictures of me," Lucrece said. "And in any case, from what we learned, she doesn't own this club. They simply allow her to stay here while she's on the run." She got out of the cab. "If I'm not back within fifteen minutes, assume that there's trouble."

Pinto frowned but nodded. He and Brutus would likely be recognized if they went in, and even if they were not, Lucrece felt it would draw too much attention their way. She wanted to go it alone for now. Pinto knew that she could take care of herself, but he was concerned anyway.

Lucrece pretended not to see the look in his eyes as she stepped out of the cab and walked towards the front entrance.

She never had liked women's shoes in her time. In this time, they were even more uncomfortable and preposterous. She had tried several types of outrageous high heels in the store before outright giving up, both because of the pain and because she kept falling off. Instead she was wearing simple, low pumps, mostly concealed by the long, shimmering skirt.

The doorman admitted her to the club without any hassle, much to her gratification, and she strolled into a strange world of furniture, people, and music that was still foreign to her despite apparently not being current to the present day. The band was playing something she supposed was the swing genre of music she had learned of. Some of the patrons were dancing. Others were sitting it out and just watching and listening.

Catching sight of one entranced man who seemed to be alone, she put on her best sweet smile and strolled to his table. "Hello," she greeted. "Don't you have a dance partner?"

"Hmm?" He started and looked up at her. His eyes lit up. "I didn't, but would you like to volunteer?"

She smiled and laughed lightly. "Maybe on a slower number. This one is going so fast there wouldn't be any chance to talk."

He stood, pulling out the chair next to his. "If you'd like to talk, I'm available for that too," he grinned. "Paul Drake."

Deciding not to give her right name, Lucrece smiled and took the chair. "Lucille."

"Well, Lucille, I'm glad to make your acquaintance." Paul shook her hand. "What's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this without an escort?"

"I could ask the same thing of a handsome man," Lucrece said.

Paul sighed. "With me, unfortunately, it's all business. I'm looking for a woman who supposedly likes to come here. Not for any fun reason, though," he quickly added. "To collect her for the police."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms on the table as she leaned forward. "How intriguing. What has she done?"

"If you haven't been here long, and haven't heard, you'd never believe me if I told you," Paul said.

"You never know until you try," she replied.

Paul looked into her eyes, clearly taken with her beauty. "Let's just say that she has big delusions of grandeur," he said. "Her name's Flo."

"What a coincidence," Lucrece said. "I'm looking for her too."

Paul seemed to tense a bit. "Might I ask why? She's a real bad character."

Lucrece nodded. "I know. I've heard that she's decided to betray her organization in favor of helping some strange man she met. And if it's true, that man wants to bring death upon me and some friends of mine." She shuddered. "As you can imagine, I'm very concerned."

Paul frowned, deeply. "Have you told the police?"

She blinked. "No, I haven't," she admitted. "I was hoping that if I told her organization, they might bring her in line before she has a chance to try taking out a contract on any of us. I hear she has many men under her command."

"I think she does," Paul said. "But I wouldn't recommend talking to her organization. They're pretty scary people themselves. And I'm not sure anyone has even seen the three guys who head it up."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of talking to scary people," Lucrece purred.

"All the same, I'd rather you didn't," said Paul. "Why don't you come with me and you can tell all this to the police? I have several friends on the force. They'd do everything they could to help you and your friends."

"I could," Lucrece conceded. "Or _you_ could come with _me._ Perhaps together we could convince Florence's organization that she plans to betray them. If we had proof, they would have to believe us." She leaned in closer. "I'm afraid I just don't believe that the police could apprehend all of Florence's men, if she has so many of them."

Paul let her kiss him before moving back. "Maybe they couldn't," he said, "but I'd rather take my chances with them than with a bunch of mobsters."

Lucrece's eyes flickered with displeasure. "Then you won't help me?"

"Not in that way," Paul said, shaking his head. "I don't think it would be helping you much to let you go through with that. Of course, if you don't want to talk to the police, I can't really stop you."

"No, you can't," said Lucrece.

She stood, considering her options. It was not as though the police in this time were her enemies. They could do nothing to her or the others without proof that they had committed crimes in this day and age. Some members of the police force on her side could prove useful.

But working with the police was not something she was used to. Negotiating with Florence's criminal organization was more along the lines of what she knew how to do. That did not mean it was necessarily what _should_ be done in this case. There were also the stranger elements of this mess, however, and she doubted the police would be very willing to believe any of that.

Unless they would because of what Florence had really done.

"Look," Paul was saying now, "if you change your mind, here's my card. Call me any time."

She took the small, rectangular business card, reading over the words.

PAUL DRAKE

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

"Thank you," she said, slipping it into her purse.

The fifteen minutes were up by now, surely. And these developments called for a meeting of the board before anything else was done.

Particularly since neither Florence nor Snakes seemed to be anywhere around.

She turned, heading for the door and disappearing into the night.

xxxx

Ray wearily sank onto the edge of his bed and slumped back against the pillows. "What a day," he voiced. "A day of complete extremes, from one end to the other."

Coley sat on a chair near the bed. "And it's still not over," he pointed out. "There's no trace of Everly anywhere."

"Oh, I expected that," Ray sighed. "He doesn't want to be found, and he has help, so of course he won't be found. Not until he wants to come calling again."

Coley glanced at the clock. "You should try to get some sleep," he encouraged. "It's way into the early morning hours now."

Ray slipped down farther on the mattress. "I don't even know if I _can_ sleep," he said. "There's so much going through my mind."

"Are you worried, even though it's not Portman?"

Ray shivered. "Yes, I'm worried. Not for me, but for everyone around me who might suffer." He paused. "Unless Dr. Portman is released. Then I'd be worried for me."

"That Lieutenant Drumm said he'd make sure they put extra guards at the asylum," Coley told him. "Just in case Everly really does decide to spring her."

Ray sighed, gazing up at the ceiling. "I wish that would be enough."

"Okay. So what _would_ be enough?"

Ray glanced to Coley in a bit of surprise that he had asked the question. "I'm not even sure of that," he said. "Maybe I don't have anything to worry about where Portman is concerned. I'm more worried about Everly right now, anyway." He hesitated for a long moment. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"About what?"

"He's interested in targeting you now." Ray clenched a fist. "You wouldn't say so, but I've been afraid of it, and I can't believe he wouldn't."

Coley finally nodded. "Yeah. He's bent on it now."

Ray rolled onto his side, swearing helplessly under his breath.

"I'm not afraid of him, Ray. I can take him out easy."

"He's not such a bad shot, either." Ray blinked, looking back to Coley. "Wait a minute, did you just call me . . . ?"

"I said I might, sometimes."

Ray leaned back, smiling a bit. "That's true, you did."

"Anyway, don't worry about me. I've gone up against a lot of good shots before. This guy's just a cheap nothing."

Ray sighed. "I hope so."

He rose up on one hand, regarding his unusual guest with thoughtfulness. "Those police officers," he said. "Was it strange to talk to them without being a wanted man?"

"What do you think?" Coley returned.

"I'd think it would be," Ray said.

"It was. They just looked at me like I was a regular free man off the street." Coley sounded far away. "Not the scum of the earth."

"You've never been that," Ray insisted.

Coley raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And knowing everything I've done, what makes you so sure of that?"

"You have good in you," Ray replied. "You've always had it. What you became and what you did couldn't take that away. It was still there. Oh, maybe buried a bit, but it managed to come out." He looked down. "The same goes for me, I guess. Sometimes it's hard to think of it in those terms, but that's what the doctors kept telling me."

Coley's lips curled in touched amusement. "So now I'm getting a lesson in how docs heal a busted mind?"

"If you want to think of it that way." Ray paused, tilting his head to the side. "But maybe instead . . . you could just think of it as a friend wanting to pass along the advice he was given."

Coley considered that. "I'd rather think of it like that."

His eyes darkened. "I didn't like what Everly made me think of today. Watching his wild eyes, seeing how badly he wanted to kill that cat. . . . It was too much like Kirby."

Ray shuddered in spite of himself. "The experiments?"

"Yeah. He tested everything on animals, you know. There wasn't much else to be done; other scientists did it too. But it was the way Kirby took such pride in the killing. I saw it one time when I walked in on him testing some new germ in an old tabby cat." Coley gripped his knee, his knuckles white inside the dark glove. "It was dying when I went in. I could see the suffering in its eyes. And it looked at me." He swore bitterly. "It _looked_ at me, like I could help it. I couldn't do anything for it. And the crazy doc, he just stood there, drinking it all in, like the cat was paying for all the suffering that emperor put on him. He acted like making the cat die with his germ was some kind of big victory."

Ray stared at him in horrified shock. "I . . . I can't even imagine."

"Be glad you can't. He reminded me of my father." Coley turned away. "You know, for all the rotten things I've done, I've never been the kind of guy who hates. It's always been business. Survival and business. But sometimes . . . sometimes I really think I hate that doc. And then I hate myself for it, because it was his hate that made him lose it. I never want to be like that."

Ray knelt on the bed and reached over, gripping Coley's shoulder. "You won't be," he said.

Coley regarded him with doubt. "And you're so sure?" he frowned. "How? This goodness you keep talking about? The doc was good too, you know—a long time ago."

"You're stronger than he was," Ray said. "You have to be, to have come through everything you've done while not losing your good side. Some people would have gone hard. Some would have just cracked up. And you didn't do either."

Coley thought about that. "More advice you heard from your docs?"

"No." Ray shook his head. "It wouldn't have applied to me anyway. I went hard. And I cracked up too."

"So would anybody else, if they'd been tortured by Portman," Coley grunted. "You beat yourself up too much. I'm sure the docs didn't teach you _that._"

"They tried to help me get over it," Ray said. "I never really thought I could before. But now . . ." He nodded to himself. "Since you came, I've started to think that maybe I actually can."

Coley regarded him in surprise. "I haven't done anything."

"You have," Ray asserted. "Coley, you have. You've given me something I never thought I'd find—someone who not only listens, but understands."

"You'd feel the same about anybody else who could've shown up and fit the bill instead of me."

"Maybe I would have," Ray acknowledged. "But it wasn't anyone else; it was you. And now that I've met you . . ." He shook his head. "I can't imagine it being anyone else."

Coley fell silent, not sure how to process or respond to that at all. At last he said the only thing that came to his mind. "You'd better hope Jason Everly never hears you talking like that."

"Oh, I don't know that it matters now," Ray sighed. "He's already decided to target you."

"That's true." Coley stared into the distance. "I don't think I've ever been important to anyone other than my mother. It's a strange feeling."

"Bad?" Ray worried.

"No, not bad. Just . . . weird. Overwhelming, maybe. I wonder how it happened and if I can live up to it."

"You don't have to do anything except be yourself." Ray leaned against the footboard. "That's what I like about you, Coley—you're real. You don't put on airs or try to be polite or fumble around for the perfect words to say to the crazy, formerly dead man."

"I've run a few bluffs in my time."

"But not with me," Ray insisted.

Coley finally nodded in agreement. "Not with you."

"And that," Ray said, "is what's important."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes: This chapter became an "everyone is having a weird night" chapter. And I think Coley's nightmare is one of the most unsettling things I've written in quite a while.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

_He was back in the old, familiar tower, down at the bottom of the steps where Whitey had fallen._

_Whitey was not there now, but Anna was, silently gripping the end of the banister as she glowered at him—angry, accusing, hateful. And yet, as he passed her, his tongue stilled for once, her look changed to one of . . . sorrow? Pity? In the heavy shadows, he could not tell. He glared at her, bewildered, trying to understand, but he could not. He just went up the stairs to the laboratory._

_Kirby was cackling madly as he arrived. And when he thrust open the door, revealing the scene before him, he knew he was going chalk-white._

"_Ah, there you are!" Kirby exclaimed in insane delight. "The termite."_

"_What are you doing here?" Coley snapped. "You're dead."_

"_Only after a certain point in time. This is before you killed me! I followed you out of the past and into the time you've settled in now. And I took some wonderful specimens to test my new germ. Look at how well it works!"_

_He placed a limp, silver cat in Coley's arms. Coley rocked back, staring, not wanting to believe. "Jane?" he whispered in horror._

_He had the terrible urge to drop the little body to the floor, rid himself of it, and insist that this was a wretched trick. But he could not let go, not when he knew all too well that it was likely the truth. Kirby did not play tricks with death. He just caused it and reveled in it._

_And Coley knew this was Jane. He recognized her markings by now. He stroked the cat's head, wanting a response, pleading for it, praying for it, even. But he knew there would not be one. His eyes flaming with outrage and hatred, he looked back at Kirby._

"_I didn't give you permission to go messing in my personal life," he snarled. "This cat isn't even mine! She belongs to a lonely old lady. What's she going to do without Jane?!"_

"_She can manage as well as I managed without my wife!" Kirby roared. "Everyone deserves to feel what I felt when the ruler tore her away from me!"_

"_Why?!" Coley screamed back. "The ruler's the only one who's guilty. Why do you have to punish the whole world for what he did?!"_

"_Because no one cares," Kirby snarled. "My wife means nothing to them. So I'll make them suffer. I'll make them care." He stepped to the side of Coley's line of vision. "And now, I'll do the same to you."_

"_Coley?"_

_The weak, agonized voice stopped Coley cold. "Norman?!" He walked to the nearest slab in a complete, horrified, disbelieving daze. Ray was lying there, looking at him, the same desperate look in his eyes that Coley had seen in the tabby cat so long ago._

_Coley spun to face Kirby again. "You gave __**him**__ the germ?!"_

"_Why not?" Kirby retorted. "Why should he be spared any more than anyone else? I'm thinking of trying it on Artemus Gordon and James West again, too. Would it be different this time than before? Would you not want them dead now?"_

_Coley ignored that and looked back to Ray, his stomach turning. Ray reached for him, shaking, trying to smile one last time._

"_I don't regret anything," Ray told him. "Thank you for coming into my life, Coley. You made me happy, for the first time in years. . . ." His eyes sank closed, his hand falling away before Coley could so much as reply._

"_Ray?!" Coley set Jane beside Ray, grabbing his shoulders, checking desperately for life. But Ray was already gone._

_Kirby walked around to a second slab and threw back the sheet. "Your dear mother already succumbed, I'm afraid. You can't have any final words with her."_

_Coley went stiff, gazing at the lifeless body and the familiar face. Jane, Ray, now his mother. . . ._

_His feelings boiled over. He grabbed his gun, yelling in anguish and rage as he fired again and again, emptying each chamber into Kirby's body. The mad doctor slumped down, clutching his chest, dead._

_Coley stood where he was, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself. "Dead," he choked out. "They're all dead."_

_And now Kirby was, too. Dead __**again,**__ that is._

_This time it wasn't from self-defense or even a need to get him out of the way. Coley had given into his hatred._

_The gun slipped from his hands as he sank to his knees, overcome._

Coley jumped a mile out of bed, his eyes wild, gasping for breath. He sank into the mattress, shaking, massaging his eyes with his trembling hands.

"It was just a dream," he muttered to himself. "A stupid, crazy dream. Kirby's dead already. Everyone else is alive and okay." And if anyone got hurt now, it would likely be Everly's fault. Certainly it would not be Kirby's.

He threw back the covers and crossed to the window, staring across the property. The cabins were not visible from here. Even if they were, it wouldn't be as though he could see a furry form loafing in the window. Jane always slept on the bed with Mrs. Featherstone.

Except for when she had stayed with Coley during his recovery.

He turned away from the window in frustrated disgust. He should not let a dream get to him like this. It wasn't real. It was just a product of his own mind, a weird reworking of the thoughts that had been going through his head before he went to sleep.

And a reworking of his fears, maybe?

Probably.

He cared about Ray, and his mother, and yes, Jane, too. And . . . well, he supposed he didn't want Jim or Arte dead now. He had tried to save them both, after all.

Maybe the dream also had some of his lingering confusion over how best to make amends for the wrongs he had committed. Thanks to Ray, he had started wondering how his conscience would be best satisfied. That was certainly not something he had worried about in the past. He had justified himself and excused himself, and when he had regretted anything, he had shoved it aside, vainly hoping not to think about it. Even as recently as when he and Arte had teamed up, he had just wanted to stay out of prison at all costs.

But Ray was so different, so humble, wanting to do the right thing after such a long time of doing wrong. Coley really felt he did not need to worry so deeply about it. Ray was a good man, trying to do his best.

Ray worried anyway. And now he had Coley concerned.

Coley always argued himself into the same answers, however. How would it really solve anything for him to go to prison now? It wouldn't ease the pain of anyone he had hurt, not unless they wanted him to be locked up that badly. It would torture him, so maybe he deserved it. But it would also torture Ray, and he did _not_ deserve it.

Was it alright for someone like Coley to be happy, if it would make someone else happy as well?

He sighed as he sank back into bed. There were no real answers for this dilemma. He felt uneasy about everything, but moreso about being behind bars, so maybe it was time to fully allow himself to focus on the idea of being free. He could do more good that way, and he would be happiest, so it seemed the best idea all around.

It was weird, how time worked, he mused to himself right before he sank into a doze. If one went back far enough, they probably _could_ find Kirby still alive. They could probably find _anyone_ still alive.

Ray was right. Time travel was one big, confusing mess.

xxxx

_She had not seen his body when he had originally died. She had not wanted to; she did not want that to be her final memory of him. And anyway, she had needed to get out of Justice as fast as possible. There had not been any time to see him even if she had desired it._

_But she was seeing him now, lying dead from trying to save her. He was slumped almost completely on the floor, his gun in hand. Blood was everywhere._

"_You foolish man!" she heard herself crying out. "You stupid, foolish man."_

_Yes, they were supposed to protect each other in their organization. But he had not protected her out of loyalty to the board. Instead it was out of his deep love and devotion to her._

_Love was weakness, she had told him and herself over and over. He should do nothing for love._

_Now he had given up his life for love._

_She knelt next to him, her hands trembling as she searched in vain desperation for some sign of lingering life. He was her best second-in-command, her confidante, her most dedicated companion. She had not wanted to think about his death, and had told him so more than once. He had expressed concern that something might happen to him before she could ever fully acknowledge her feelings for him. By then it would be too late._

_She leaned down, gazing at his chalk-white skin, his closed eyes, that otherworldly, almost eerie, look of peace._

"_You can't look like that!" she snapped. "You've left me. You were never supposed to leave me again."_

_She touched his cheek. It was cold._

_Still trembling, she brought her lips to his and kissed him, filled with the same desperation, the same longing. But he was quiet now, for good. There was no reaction. There never would be now._

"_Pinto," she choked out, her voice drenched with the agony of one who knows she has squandered all hope until there is none left. "Pinto, I'm sorry. You were right; I love you. Come back to me. Come back, just one more time."_

_But she knew she was wishing for a chance she could not have, did not deserve to have. There had been many opportunities that she could have set things right. Perhaps, who knew, it could have even changed this battle, this outcome._

_And this was not any silly children's fairytale, where such chances could still come. This was icy reality. Pinto would not revive. She could not bring him back._

_All she could do was kneel helplessly on the floor, embracing his body, and allow herself the grief that she had never permitted in the past._

_When the tears fell, she did not even try to stop them, as she would have even just moments before. She did not care now. She wept for both times Pinto had died, for all the times she could have told him what he had longed to hear, for all the times she could have opened her soul to him and had not._

_Maybe he would come and stand by the dresser again now, unseen but very much felt. It was the only way she could ever have his presence with her anymore._

"_I love you," she whispered in anguish. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."_

_She had not been able to say it while he was alive. Now he was gone and the words were tumbling free._

Lucrece snapped awake, cold and empty, gripping the edge of her pillow. Troubled, she sat up, a deep frown on her features.

What on Earth _was_ that? Her inner fears wanting a voice, perhaps? Or just unimportant nonsense?

Lucrece had never been one to put a great deal of stock in her dreams. They were just something everyone had, for assorted and inconsequential reasons. People who claimed to predict the future through their dreams were, Lucrece was certain, quite mad.

She had never before awakened from a dream with such a dark, disconsolate feeling. Or rather, she corrected herself as she stood, it had not happened in a very long time.

Pinto had been the source of every one of them too, aside from one or two long-forgotten childhood dreams involving her parents. They had come off and on following his death in Justice and the unsettling experience back at their hideout. The dreams had always pertained to his death in some way, disturbing and distressing Lucrece.

Her unwillingness to acknowledge her feelings for Pinto might have been responsible for some of it, if some of the theories on dreams were correct. And her fear over how those feelings could be used against them could have played a part in this one tonight.

She got up from the bed and pulled on her robe before stepping into the hall. Pinto was alive and well and most likely in the bedroom he had chosen. When she had awakened from those unpleasant dreams in the past, of course he had not been there for her. He had truly been dead then. He should be alive now, but she could not bring herself to do something so ridiculous and juvenile as actually peering into his room to see. She would walk around the house for a while, thinking, until either she grew exhausted or Pinto woke up.

Whichever came first.

There was a lot to think about in the meantime, if she could steer her mind away from that blasted dream. The board meeting that evening had gone unsettled, with no one sure what to make of Paul Drake's offer. Aligning with the police, for whatever reason, could go good or bad. And Lucrece really wasn't certain that they would be able to round up all of Florence's men.

But she wasn't sure she wanted to draw possible suspicion to all of them by outright refusing to involve the police, either. If Drake started to think that they might be criminals, and he started to investigate . . .

She frowned, sitting down at the kitchen table. There were so many things that could potentially go wrong while they tried to correct what had already gone wrong. And it was all because Dr. Faustina had felt she needed to revive Snakes in addition to everyone else. If she had left him dead, as she should have, they could settle into this world and this life.

Well, there would still be the Secret Service agents on their trail, but at least she knew how they operated. She knew scarcely anything about Florence and F.O.W.L. And they would have all manner of modern weaponry on their side. Lucrece and the others would probably seem primitive by comparison. Certainly their weapons were simple.

Perhaps the first thing they should do was to get hold of some modern weapons of their own. Then at least they would be on similar ground if a battle was unavoidable.

"You're up late."

She started at the sudden voice. It was Pinto, and half-subconsciously she relaxed. He was safe, as she had of course known he was in spite of her odd dreams.

"So are you," she returned.

He laid his hands on her shoulders and gently began to rub along them and her upper arms. "Thinking about our problems?"

She was not about to admit that a dream had shaken her out of bed. "Yes."

"Well, I'm not for teaming up with the law," Pinto said. "A lot of things could go wrong that way."

"Yes, they could. And on the other hand, suppose we don't and they discover we're involved in this mess. We might end up arrested in this time." Lucrece looked annoyed. "I don't want to have to waste energy and days determining how to escape from a modern prison."

"There's something to that," Pinto conceded.

"I don't know whether it's good or bad that I ran across that private detective right when I entered. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him anything, but I was hoping I could sway him to help us."

"You had to take the gamble." Pinto sat down next to her. "You're thinkin' maybe we should fall in with him, aren't you?"

"Perhaps. But only until Snakes and Florence are no longer a threat."

Pinto fell silent. It was not his usual, contemplative silence. Instead, Lucrece had the distinct feeling that his reservations went a lot deeper than just working with the police.

"What's wrong?" she asked at last.

"This Drake. He was awfully attracted to you, wasn't he?"

"Just a physical infatuation. He knows nothing about me, not even my real name." She spoke boredly, as she usually did if Pinto expressed such dislikes and concerns. But deep down, she supposed she liked that he didn't like it.

Except for when she thought of how those dreams could come true.

"You really shouldn't worry so much, you know," she said at last. "I wouldn't care about him. And anyway, _you_ shouldn't care about _me._ It could get you killed someday."

"I guess so. But there wouldn't be much to live for if I didn't care."

She turned to look at him. He wasn't speaking flippantly; he was completely serious. She wasn't sure how that made her feel. "Pinto . . ."

He leaned in and kissed her, quietly, gently. "Anyway, I trust you. I know you wouldn't fall in with some detective unless it was a trick."

In light of her concerns, part of her wanted to protest the show of affection. But instead she succumbed, returning the kiss. "That's right," she said, leaning against his shoulder.

xxxx

Lieutenant Steve Drumm sighed, checking his watch one more time. It seemed unlikely to him that anyone would barge in on Mrs. Featherstone so late, particularly with security on high alert, but this vigil could not be abandoned at least until morning.

Jane meowed, looking up at him from her position on a desk.

Steve looked back. "You should be getting some sleep, like your owner," he said. "What are you doing still awake?"

"Jane is probably worried, just like me," Mrs. Featherstone spoke up as she entered the room.

Steve sighed, his hands going into his pockets. "Mrs. Featherstone . . ."

She held up her hands. "I know, I'm supposed to be sleeping. But how am I supposed to do that when my baby's life has been threatened?" Lifting Jane into her arms, she cooed at and cuddled the Persian. "Oh, Lieutenant, can you imagine anyone wanting to kill such a sweet darling to get back at those poor boys?"

Steve allowed a bit of a gently amused smile at Ray and Coley being referred to as _boys._ But he grew sober as he answered, "Unfortunately, Mrs. Featherstone, being in the Homicide division I can imagine it quite easily."

Mrs. Featherstone sighed. "Yes, I suppose you could. Whatever is this world coming to?"

Jane merowed, as if in answering disgust and dismay.

Steve watched, still amused. "Tell me, Mrs. Featherstone, is she friendly with everyone?"

"She's congenial," Mrs. Featherstone said, sitting down and settling Jane on her lap. "She likes attention and food and being petted. She knows she's beautiful and can wrangle attention from almost everyone. But it takes a special kind of person to get her attached to them and not to the attention."

"And Mr. Norman and Mr. Rodman are such people," Steve finished.

"Oh yes. She just loves them." Mrs. Featherstone smiled, stroking the cat's head.

"You don't ever have any concerns that she might end up falling for the wrong kind of person, like people do?" Steve queried with a twinkle in his eye.

"Of course not!" Mrs. Featherstone retorted. "Cats sense human nature better than humans do, you know. If Jane loves the person, they're worth her love."

"Well, then I suppose I don't have to worry about one of Everly's men infiltrating and Jane adoring him," Steve said.

"There's no need for the patronizing tone, Lieutenant." Mrs. Featherstone continued to pet her cat. "And no, there's no need to worry about that at all. Even if Jane somehow managed to like him, it would be because he was really good at heart and wouldn't do wrong by her if it came right down to it."

She gave him a hopeful look now. "Can I get you something? Tea, juice, a snack?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Steve said.

"Oh, just a little something." She got up and moved to the kitchenette, looking through the cupboards. "We can sit at the table and have crackers and cheese. You can never go wrong with that combination."

Steve leaned back and watched her. "Really, Mrs. Featherstone . . ."

But he trailed off. He had learned something of human nature himself, and right now he had the feeling that Mrs. Featherstone was so wide-awake at least partially because she longed so badly for the company. And if it would make her happy to share a little snack with him, while he was on-duty here anyway, he was certainly willing.

xxxx

Jim was asleep by the time Arte finished crafting the papers and cards he felt he might need in the morning. Among other things, he had borrowed Ray's digital camera and the laptop computer to make up and print the identification card.

"Now I just have to hope they won't double-check anything too thoroughly," he mused to the room. "Particularly since there was no way for me to slip duplicate copies into the various computer databases."

He gathered the objects, intending to place them in his wallet, and stood.

And nearly jumped a mile when Jim rolled over and looked to him. "All done?"

Arte slumped back as the initial shock passed. "I thought you were asleep!"

Jim shrugged. "I was, for a while."

"Well, in answer to your question, James, yes, I'm done. And a skillful job it is, if I do say so myself." Arte held out the items for approval.

Jim sat up, looking them over and nodding. "Nice. I think you've outdone yourself, Arte."

"Why, thank you, James." Arte gave a half-mock bow.

"And speaking of sleep, you'd better get some yourself, or you won't be in any shape to pull off your disguise tomorrow."

Arte nodded. "Very true. I don't want to be yawning all through my first day in class." He gathered up the computer and the camera. "I'll just return these to Mr. Norman's office first. I might not have time later."

Jim laid back down. "Don't be too long."

"I'll be back before you know it," Arte assured him.

The halls were quiet as Arte strolled along, heading for the office. He passed a police guard or two, and they exchanged quiet greetings, but aside from that no one was up. Soon he had reached Ray's office, and pushing open the door, he made his way inside and to the desk.

He was just setting the laptop down when the telephone rang. He jumped a mile, staring at the object in surprise. Two in the morning was not a usual time for anyone to make a social call. What did it mean? Was something wrong?

It rang a couple more times before Arte finally opted to lift the receiver. "Hello?" he greeted.

There was definitely someone on the other end of the line; the sound of breathing was very audible. But no one spoke.

"Hello!" Arte said again, firmer and more direct.

A loud click sounded in his ear, followed by the noise Ray had said was the dial tone. Arte frowned as he pulled the receiver away. "Well, how do you like that?" he muttered. "They hung up on me."

"Who was on the phone?"

Arte just barely glanced up. "Oh, Mr. Norman, I didn't think you were up. I'm afraid I have no idea who was on the telephone. They wouldn't say a word to me! And I'm assuming it's just as rude to do that on the telephone as it would be if the other person was right in the room."

"Yes, it is." The other man walked over to the desk, leaning over to examine the small screen. "The call came from a payphone," he mused.

Grabbing up the receiver, he dialed a number and waited. "Yes, this is Lieutenant Anderson, LAPD," he said after a moment. "I'm calling from . . ." He began to recite Ray's private number.

Arte was barely listening to that. He was standing up straight, staring in stunned shock at the blond man. Now that he was paying closer attention he could see that this wasn't Ray. This man was too young. But he looked and sounded strikingly similar.

"Strange," Arte murmured to himself, shaking his head. "Very strange indeed."

Lieutenant Anderson hung up after a moment. "There's a number for the payphone," he said in annoyance. "The booth is up in Griffith Park. Some officers on the night shift will drive out there and look around, but by now whoever it was must surely be long gone."

"Why would anyone call up and not say a word?" Arte wondered. "That seems pointless."

"Usually when that happens, it's just a prank, or occasionally a wrong number," Lieutenant Anderson replied. "In this case, I have to wonder if there wasn't something more sinister behind it."

"Sinister?" Arte regarded him in bewilderment. "Do you think it was Jason Everly calling?"

"Maybe. He could have wanted to scare Mr. Norman, or even to simply see if he was in his office."

"And upon hearing an unfamiliar voice, he decided it would be better to just hang up?"

Lieutenant Anderson nodded. "Something like that."

Arte was worried now. "Well, do you think we need to worry that he'll come over?"

"He might," Lieutenant Anderson said. "I'll have to alert Lieutenant Drumm. But on the other hand, Everly might decide to do nothing, at least until morning."

"Hopefully." Arte paused. "I suppose it's really not the right time to bring it up, Lieutenant, but you really do strongly resemble Mr. Norman."

"That's what Mr. Mason told me," Lieutenant Anderson agreed. "And I've seen photographs. I just hope that if Mr. Everly does come back, the resemblance will be enough to fool him for a minute or two." He sat down at the desk.

"Oh!" Arte exclaimed in realization. "You're using yourself as a decoy."

"That's right. And it could be dangerous, Mr. Gordon. You'd better get to bed."

"I should," Arte agreed slowly. "But wait, I didn't introduce myself. How do you know . . ."

"The guard outside in the hall," Lieutenant Anderson replied. "He identified you and told me you were bringing some things back to the office."

"Yes, I was," Arte nodded. "Mr. Norman let me borrow them for the evening.

"Well, thank you again, and I'll let you get on with your work." Arte half-waved and headed out the door.

He seriously doubted he would sleep now. And if Jim was still awake, they should probably have a conference about what they could do instead. Even though they had not identified themselves as Secret Service agents in this time period, their skills might be needed.

Who knew what Jason Everly might try next, if he came back.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Ray had been having a strange night as well, filled with odd and disturbing and bewildering dreams that he did not fully recall upon awakening in the morning. And when he stumbled out of bed and learned of the mysterious phone call and the police's concerns during the night, he was not sure what to make of it.

"Maybe it _was_ just a prank," he said hopefully. But he sighed and turned away. "Although I doubt it."

"So do we, Mr. Norman," Arte said. "Particularly in light of this Jason Everly's threats."

"Well . . ." Ray shook his head. "I'm touched that you stayed up all night, on guard in case he attacked, but you shouldn't have done that. It's alright now, I'm sure. Please, get some sleep."

Arte nodded, unable to withhold a yawn. "That's a great idea," he said through it. At this point, he wasn't sure how he was going to be alert for the class later.

Jim nodded too, placing a hand on Arte's shoulder. "Hopefully it really is alright now," he said, "and Everly won't decide to attack when we start to let down our guard."

Ray sighed. "If I had to guess, I'd say that if it was him, he just wanted to rattle me and make me wonder. When he decides to actually do something I doubt there'll be any kind of warning first. He's just blown in, the times he's decided to show up here."

"Well, you know him better than we do," Arte said.

"Unfortunately. Oh, is that Lieutenant Anderson still here?" Ray queried, perking up in his curiosity.

"I think so," said Jim. "He was in your office, last we knew."

"I've wanted to meet him ever since Mr. Mason mentioned him," Ray said. "I think I'll go down there and say Hello. And maybe find out if he's learned anything."

"Good luck." Arte half-waved as he started to shuffle down the hall. "Jim and I are going to take you up on that offer and go to bed. Sleep, glorious sleep!"

Jim grinned as he followed Arte down the corridor. Ray smiled, watching them go, and turned to head for his office.

"What's all the commotion?"

He looked up at the sound of Coley's voice. Coley was emerging from his room, still looking half-asleep as he strapped on his gun belt. After Everly's last visit, he wasn't going to be caught without his weapon.

"It's probably nothing," Ray told him. "There was a strange phone call in the night and the police thought it might be Jason Everly. But apparently nothing else happened."

Coley nodded, looking occupied. "That's something, at least."

"What's on your mind?" Ray wondered.

"Oh, it's definitely nothing," Coley grunted, disgusted at whatever "it" was. "Don't worry about it."

Ray frowned. "I don't think _definitely nothing_ would get you so irritated."

"I'm irritated because it _is_ nothing and shouldn't have come up in the first place." Coley rubbed the back of his neck. "There's too much going on around here. Don't tell me _you_ had a good rest."

Ray sighed. "Not really, no. But I don't really remember what caused my trouble." He turned, heading for the hall. "I'm going to see if that double of mine is still around. Apparently he was here last night. Do you want to come?"

Coley shrugged. "Sure."

He was silent as they started to walk up the hall. When again he spoke, he wasn't facing Ray. "So, the cat's okay then, I take it."

"As far as I know," Ray assured him. "A police officer stayed with Mrs. Featherstone all night. I just got up, but I'm sure I would have heard if something had gone wrong."

Coley nodded. "Yeah, that's what I'd figure."

Once more he hesitated. "This time travel stuff. You act like you know a lot of the big theories on it. I guess if I could come here from the past, somebody farther back could, too. Even someone who was already dead in my time."

Ray blinked. "Well, I guess their ghost could always come around. And otherwise, if they found a way to time travel before they died, I would think they could certainly show up here." He hesitated. "If they never found a way before they died, however, then there shouldn't be any problem unless someone else decided to go back and get them and bring them forward. And they'd probably need a machine for that. I'm assuming the portal Mr. West and Mr. Gordon are looking for only goes back to your time and not before then."

"That makes sense." Coley seemed to relax.

". . . Were you afraid that someone from your past might show up here?" Ray wondered.

"I just wondered if it could happen," Coley answered. "But I can't think of anyone who'd want that crazy doc alive again. Except maybe his daughter, and she wouldn't want the crazy version."

Ray nodded. "Hopefully there's no problem then."

The door to his office opened and Lieutenant Anderson stepped out. Ray and Coley both stopped and stared. Upon seeing them, Lieutenant Anderson looked bewildered too.

"Well," he said at last as he tried to recover from the shock, "I guess Perry Mason wasn't exaggerating when he said we looked alike. I've seen pictures, but that's still nothing compared to the real deal."

"It really isn't," Ray chuckled, holding out a hand. "I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Likewise." Lieutenant Anderson shook his hand and looked to Coley. "And you're Mr. Rodman, I assume?"

"That's right." Not bothering with polite hand-shaking, Coley dove right into his concerns. "So what happened last night? Anything at all?"

"Not after the phone call." Lieutenant Anderson rocked back, placing one hand over the other. "I'll see to it that some officers stay on today and monitor the club for problems."

"Thank you," Ray said. "I still don't have any idea who the spy might be." Anger slipped into his voice. "I'd like to expose him—or her—myself."

"You might," Lieutenant Anderson agreed. "I'm afraid we don't have any idea who the spy is yet, either. Whoever figures it out first had best make sure to tell the other."

"I want the police in on this," Ray assured him. "And I want to be let in on it if your men uncover it first."

"Of course."

Coley could hear the questions in the policeman's voice as his gaze darted to Coley. He wondered exactly who Coley was and what his purpose was in being there. Despite what he had learned from others at the club, he was not satisfied. But unless he asked outright, Coley had no intention of telling him a thing.

"I hear that you're another possibly permanent guest of Mr. Norman's," Lieutenant Anderson said now.

"Who said so?" Coley returned.

"A staff member," Lieutenant Anderson said vaguely. "It doesn't matter much who. What I find the most interesting is that hardly anyone seems to know much about who you are."

"I don't golf," Coley said flatly, "so I just don't meet up with the guests much."

Ray nodded. "He . . . he just needed a place to stay for a while," he stammered. Gaining confidence when it sounded plausible, Ray went on, "He's mostly either with me or with Jane. She's here when Mrs. Featherstone is on the golf course."

Lieutenant Anderson looked like he was making a mental note. "Is that right, Mr. Rodman?" he asked, looking to him.

Irritation flickered in Coley's eyes. "Norman said so," he said. "Isn't that good enough?"

"We just like to have confirmation," Lieutenant Anderson tried to assure him.

"You've got it," Coley responded. "I'm going on ahead."

Ray looked apologetic as he watched Coley walk to the lead position. "Coley just isn't much of a people person, Lieutenant," he said.

"After hours on an assignment, I can understand how he feels," said Lieutenant Anderson. "Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yes," Ray said without hesitation. "He's my friend."

Lieutenant Anderson nodded. "I hate to have to ask this, Mr. Norman, but do you trust him?"

Ray's eyes flickered with irritation now. "Yes, I trust him," he declared. "He would never work with Jason Everly or any other enemy of mine. He's loyal and true."

Coley paused and glanced back. The trust Ray placed in him still amazed him. Ray really didn't have much basis for it, when it came to knowing him for a long time. And yet Ray was so sure of his words.

"You haven't known him for very long, and you're so positive of that?"

"How long do you have to know a man to see that he has a good soul?"

Lieutenant Anderson nodded and stopped walking. "You're very loyal yourself, Mr. Norman," he declared. "Thank you for your time; perhaps we'll talk later."

"Maybe." Relieved that Lieutenant Anderson was letting the matter drop, Ray moved to follow after Coley. "Thank you for trying to get to the bottom of what's going on here."

Coley started walking again when he heard Ray coming after him. He slowed, and as Ray caught up, they wandered down the hall together.

"I know the police have to do their job, but I don't appreciate them being suspicious of you," Ray said. "Anyway, they could learn who you really are so easily, if they start to investigate."

"Yeah, but would they believe it as easily as you did?" Coley returned.

Ray had to smirk a bit. "Well, maybe not. They'd probably take one look and figure they had to be going out of their minds."

"Unless those stories in the paper about that crazy lady Flo mean that they'd be more willing to consider weird and unproven ideas."

Ray sighed. "There is that," he admitted. "I don't know much about what happened when she . . . er, took over the world this past summer. I was still in the sanitarium at the time."

"Eh, it probably doesn't matter anyway. She's of no concern to us." Coley paused. "That Lieutenant doesn't bother me, either. I'm just thinking about Everly."

"And maybe Everly will leave us alone for a while, if he knows we've got the police here." Ray looked to Coley. "We should try to make the most out of the day. Do you want to practice any more with the golf cart?"

"Yeah, I might," Coley agreed. "Gordon might, too, since he's starting that class tonight."

"We'll see." Ray headed for the dining area. "Right now he's getting some much needed rest. He and Mr. West were up all night in case Everly came."

"That sounds like them." Coley wondered if he should have stayed awake himself. He had wanted to believe that the police would do their jobs, and he had been worn out, so he had slept.

"I guess even here, it's hard to forget the job you've had for years," Ray remarked.

Coley slowed. "Are you still just talking about them, or me, too?"

Ray cringed. "I wasn't even thinking about you," he said. "You've said that you're going to turn over a new leaf, and I believe you. Of course I'm sure you'll think about what you did, but that's all; you won't return to it."

Coley nodded. "I won't. But I'm still wondering what I'm going to do around here. I don't want to be loafing around." He touched his right arm. "I'm healing up about as good as I'm going to. I'm getting jumpy just staying in here most of the time."

"I'm sure we can come up with something for you to do," Ray told him. "Do you like using the computer?"

Coley shrugged. "It's alright. I'm just not used to sitting around all day to work. I've been active most of my life. Isn't there anything that might fit me better?"

Ray paused as he thought about it. "I'm afraid not much goes on at a golf club," he confessed. "But in all honesty, if you want to be up and around, and you don't want any direct involvement with golf, I think the best position for you would be in security. Maybe I should fire the chief of security and give you that position." He smiled. "You've certainly done a good job of getting Jason Everly out of here, twice. And that's more than can be said for the security guards."

Coley considered that and nodded. "I think you're right. Boy, do your people need whipping into shape. You must've only had enough money to hire deadbeats and green ones."

Ray smirked. "It seems like that's not far off the mark."

"I'll make men out of them yet," Coley vowed. "You'll have the best security team of any place around here."

"I know I will." Ray smiled, reaching for the dining room door.

"And I can keep an eye on the lot of them. Maybe I can find the snitch."

"I hope so." Concern flickered in Ray's eyes. "And that you can do it without getting yourself hurt."

"I'll be just fine." Coley pulled the door open. "Let's get something to eat."

xxxx

Lucrece sat in front of the telephone, Paul's business card in her hand. She frowned, idly rubbing her thumb over the printed letters. "Paul Drake, private investigator," she read.

An after-breakfast board meeting, presenting the problems once everyone was awake and full, had produced more decisive answers since last night. The gang did not want to form an alliance with the police. Those feelings were only further cemented by the fact that Lucrece had researched Paul and found him to be absolutely upright. In fear of losing his license, Paul hated doing anything that could be construed as even possibly illegal.

She was still debating whether or not she could run a bluff on him. He could be useful, everyone had agreed, but only to a certain extent. He was quite a ladies' man, as so many men were, and that might prove worthy of further exploitation. Especially since she was concerned that continuing to investigate the Play It Again, Sam Club would result in more meetings between them. She did not want him getting in their way, and the best method of ensuring it not happening might very well be a bluff.

Perhaps she could tell him that her friends just did not want to align with the police, and she was too afraid to. Then, in lieu of them trying to make a deal with mobsters, Paul might volunteer to work closely with them and do more to find Florence first. With his knowledge of the time period and the technology, he might locate her quicker than they could. In the process of looking, they might gather the proof they needed and be able to turn it and Florence over to her superiors.

The sound of the front doorknob turning immediately brought her attention up. Everyone was still in the house; no one should be coming in.

She drew her gun as she stood and crossed to the door. "The door is locked," she said loudly. "And it has more than one type of lock. If you're here to rob us, I should warn you that I also have a weapon trained on your position."

"You'll want to talk to me, darling." The voice was muffled, but feminine.

Lucrece frowned. "Why should I?"

"My name is Florence. And don't worry, I'm alone. And without any murderous intent."

Lucrece went stiff. "How can I trust you?"

"Look out the window. See that I'm alone and that I don't have a gun."

Lucrece looked to Pinto, who was just coming down the stairs. "Go to the window," she ordered. "And be careful. There's a woman trying to get in claiming she's Florence."

Pinto raised an eyebrow but went, keeping himself below the window. He looked over the sill slowly, cautiously, before looking to Lucrece and nodding. No one was there other than the woman on the porch.

"Alright, so you're alone," Lucrece said. "That doesn't prove that you don't intend to shoot the instant I open this door."

"I'm unarmed," Florence purred.

"And how did you find this house?"

"Detective work and the process of elimination." Florence leaned against the door. "And I'm here because I want to know what kinds of deals you might be willing to make if I don't follow through on the one I made with Snakes."

Lucrece and Pinto exchanged a long look. At last Lucrece unlocked the door and slowly opened it. "My organization is all here," she said as she studied the woman with the reddish-blonde hair. "If you try anything foolish, you will regret it."

Florence shrugged and stepped into the room, unconcerned. "Snakes promised he could help me find the portal you people came through," she said, "but he doesn't even know where it is. I don't suppose you do?"

"Unfortunately, we don't," said Lucrece. "We haven't even looked."

"Oh?" Florence regarded her, as well as the silent Pinto, with mounting curiosity. "Are you planning to stay here?"

"That really isn't your business." Lucrece looked at her. "One of my men tells me that you aligned yourself with Snakes despite knowing that he is a traitor. That detail doesn't apparently bother you."

"Not at all," Florence said smoothly. "Except that if he betrayed you, he could also betray me. I'd like to have some back-up."

"You have all of the men at your command," Lucrece said boredly. "You don't need anything from us."

"I could make it worth your while," Florence replied. "Such as not letting Snakes know I've found you. And not allowing my men to kill you."

Lucrece was not impressed. "Do you believe we'll be receptive to a woman known for a traitorous nature? We don't want you around any more than we want Snakes. You could betray us just as easily."

"I could," Florence agreed. "But the deal is simple enough to make. All I want from you is knowledge of the portal, if you should run across it before Snakes does."

Lucrece frowned. "Pinto, get the others," she ordered.

With a quick nod Pinto departed, proceeding to visit all of the rooms where the others had settled.

"He does talk, doesn't he?" Florence said as she and Lucrece looked after him.

"When he feels like it," Lucrece answered smoothly. "Actually, he can be quite talkative. Especially when he's torturing someone." This she said with a pointed inflection as she glanced back at Florence.

The other woman smirked. "Oh, but surely not a woman," she protested. "You people are from an era when women were more highly revered . . . in some ways, at least."

"Pinto wouldn't be likely to torment a woman, it's true," Lucrece said. "But don't fool yourself into thinking he wouldn't ever make an exception. His feelings for the _fairer sex_ only go so far."

"I don't suppose that exception would concern anyone who brought harm to you?" Florence spoke calmly, cleverly.

Lucrece tried to keep her expression impassive. "What _has_ Snakes been telling you?"

"That Pinto loves you, even if you don't return the affection. Anyway, even if nothing had been said, I could see it in his eyes. I've learned to read people's eyes and body language. And yours, incidentally, say you're getting tense at this conversation. Why, I wonder—if Snakes was telling me the complete truth."

"I can't imagine."

Florence smirked, suddenly leaning on Lucrece's shoulder with her elbow. "You can fool other people, maybe. Even yourself. But don't try to fool another woman, darling. You love that man."

Lucrece's gun clicked as she jabbed it into Florence's mid-section. "I don't like being touched without my permission. I could have shot you out of reflex. I might still do it now, deliberately."

"You don't want to have to worry about what to do with a body," Florence leered. "What would your neighbors think? They might be very inquisitive."

Lucrece scowled, pulling the weapon back and pushing Florence's arm away from her. Whether or not Paul Drake could be bluffed, this woman could not seem to be. On some level, Lucrece was impressed. Florence was resourceful and intelligent.

Pinto returned to the room at that moment, the rest of the gang in tow. Lucrece looked to them.

"We have a proposal to vote on," she announced. "I trust Pinto has told you of the terms."

Sergei nodded, slicing salami. "We tell Flo of portal, she lies to Snakes."

"And doesn't try to exterminate us," Gallito added. "That is very important."

"Well, boys?" Lucrece crossed her arms. "How should we vote?" She glowered at Florence. "I move that for now, we accept her terms."

There was little else they could do at the moment, aside from refusing. They could not take her prisoner and report her to her superiors. They still needed the proof first.

One by one, the men agreed with Lucrece. There was nothing to lose, as long as they did not trust too strongly in her words. And after all, even if they stumbled on the portal, they did not actually have to tell Florence about it. Lucrece doubted they would want Florence or Snakes to discover it and go wandering through time. They might find a way to change the past, and hence, the present.

Lucrece looked to Florence when the last vote had been cast. "And there you have it," she said. "We will work with you. Sparingly. But how will we let you know if we find the portal?"

"Leave a message at the club," Florence said. "In code, of course. Refer to the portal as 'the key'." She turned, heading for the front door. "I'll be sure to pick it up."

"Where is Snakes now?" Lucrece demanded. "For all we know, he is already aware of our location."

"My men are taking good care of him," Florence purred. "I doubt he's really useful enough to keep alive for long, but we'll see."

"You could have told him about us before you left to come here," said Lucrece.

"I didn't, but anyway, he's too much of a coward to try to do anything to you himself," Florence shrugged. "After you killed him once, he's content to stay away. Why do you think he aligned with me? He wants someone else to do his dirty work for him."

"I realize that." Lucrece watched as Florence turned the knob and stepped onto the porch.

"And you still don't trust me," Florence said. "That's wise. Goodbye for now." She closed the door after herself.

Lucrece glared, wishing they had either a cab or a car. "Follow her as long as you can," she ordered Gallito. "Since you've tailed her before."

He nodded. "As you wish, Miss Posey."

"And expect her to expect it," Lucrece added. "Be extremely cautious."

Nodding again, Gallito slipped out the side door.

Lucrece turned to the others. "I don't like this," she said. "How did she discover we're here? Find out!"

They began to scatter, each with different ideas.

"We'll find out, alright," Pinto said. "She won't hold on to her secrets for long." He moved to leave as well, but stopped in surprise when Lucrece grabbed his arm.

"Pinto." She regarded him with urgency. "She knows about _us._ And not just what Snakes told her. I _knew _there would be trouble!" Her eyes darkened. "As we collect enemies in any time period, many of them will want to threaten us with harm to each other. Don't you see, Pinto? That's how and why such feelings of _love _are weak!"

Seemingly unconcerned, he leaned down and kissed her. "I'll watch out," he promised. "She won't be able to use me against you without a fight. Besides . . . I've always known you to be a defiant woman. You wouldn't let any threat stop you from doing exactly what you wanted to do."

Lucrece did not return the kiss. "I never had anything I was so afraid of losing before," she admitted, quietly, unhappily. "One reason for my defiance was because I didn't care what happened to anyone other than myself."

Pinto sobered. "I've never heard you like this."

"I never wanted you to." She turned away. "I never wanted to _be_ like this. I always thought I was above such things. Instead I'm just as pathetic as some stupid schoolgirl!"

"Nope, you're not. Because, see, those schoolgirls haven't gone through life and don't know up from down. You've been around _and_ you're one of the smartest ladies I've run into."

Lucrece smirked, darkly. "But for all of my education, I know nothing about love. Not real love; only infatuation. I use it against any man I feel like. I've never been interested in any of them.

"I never used that trick against you, even once. I never tried to lead you astray, even when I realized how you care for me. I told you upfront that I didn't care about you." She gripped her arms. "When I think of it, I don't think I could have bore tricking and manipulating you. The thought leaves me with a dark, cold feeling that I still don't fully understand. After all the men I've deliberately hurt, you were always the exception." She shook her head. "And I tricked _myself_ by refusing to believe that and the reason behind it."

"But you're starting to believe it now," Pinto replied. "And everything's going to be alright. I know what I want, and now that I realize you really want it too, I'm not letting anybody's threats stand in our way. Once you get hold of yourself, you'll feel the same. You're a fighter, Lucrece. That's one of the things I love about you."

Lucrece sighed. Pinto was right about that. She would fight and scratch and claw and kill to keep Pinto with her now. She was upset by Flo's deductions, but although it partially made her feel as though she and Pinto should call off their relationship before anyone else could figure it out, she also did not want to give in. It was a further exploration of strange and new feelings—being so terrified for someone else's life and not knowing how to not be terrified, yet wanting to push past it and find a way not to be terrified at the same time.

At last she turned to face him again, searching his eyes, studying them, and finally leaning in and kissing him. She held onto him for a long moment, and he her. Words were unnecessary.

Finally she stepped back. ". . . Don't forget about tonight," she said. "Be back in time for that."

"Just have the cab waiting and I'll be along with time to spare," Pinto promised.

xxxx

Arte was still yawning that evening when he got off the bus at the location of the driving school. For a moment he just stood where he was, gazing in fascinated awe at the little building.

"It's so small," he mused to himself. "And yet it's so vitally important."

The nervous excitement was building. He was actually going to learn about driving an automobile! Perhaps the knowledge would not benefit him long, depending on how long he and Jim stayed, but even to have it for a short time was good enough for him.

Hopefully they _would_ be able to find the portal using the automobile. But, perhaps a bit selfishly, he hoped that they wouldn't find it right away. He wanted to have enough time to fully enjoy the use of the vehicle.

Not that he could ever completely have his fill of such a marvelous invention.

He headed across the parking lot, past the two company vehicles parked near the door, and inside.

To his relief, the instructor seemed to find nothing at all strange about his identification—albeit he was a bit surprised when Arte produced cash as payment. It was accepted, however, and he led Arte to the back of the main room, where the class met.

Arte had assumed that he would be the only adult in a sea of teenagers. And while there mostly were teens, there was also a couple of people in their twenties, and a couple more closer to Jim's age.

Arte stopped still in disbelieving shock when he saw them. Seeing him looking, the instructor gestured to them and explained, "These two registered yesterday. Lucille Rose and Peter Bowen."

Hearing their names, they stopped talking and looked up as well, stiffening at the sight of Arte. But then, quickly catching the strange irony of the moment, "Lucille" smirked. "Hello," she greeted. "Artemus Gordon, is it? I heard you registering over there."

"Uh . . . why yes, Artemus Gordon." Arte fought to shake himself into the present. He could not let himself get so rattled as all this. And none of them wanted to make a scene here. He could see the warning look in "Peter's" eyes.

He sat down, still reeling as he looked across the semi-circle of chairs in the first row. _So I'm taking a driving class with Miss Posey and Little Pinto,_ he said to himself, slumping against the back of his chair. _Who would have ever thought I'd find them this way?_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

The class proceeded without incident but occasionally involved Arte, Lucrece, and Pinto shooting unsettled, suspicious looks back and forth. By the time the class was over, Arte was determined to speak with both of them.

They felt exactly the same. As they stepped into the night, they watched the other students go on ahead of them to waiting cars or to the bus stop. When they were the only ones left, by silent, mutual agreement they went around the side of the building.

"What are you two doing here?" Arte hissed.

"Obviously the same thing as you," Lucrece responded boredly. Pinto leaned on the wall with one hand, blocking Arte's view on his left side and darkly smirking at him.

Arte felt a chill go up his spine. "I'm not in the habit of attending classes with known criminals," he said. "Once we get to the point where we have hands-on training, both of you will eventually end up behind the wheel. And I shudder to think of riding in any automobile that Little Pinto is driving."

"You don't think he will do a good job?" Lucrece purred. "Neither of us wants to get in trouble, Mr. Gordon. We will be on our best behavior."

"Yes, I imagine you will be," Arte said. "But it's the principle of the matter."

"You'd feel alright about being in a car with Mr. Rodman driving, I assume." Lucrece folded her arms, glancing at the road out of the corner of her eye.

"I probably would, because I trust Mr. Rodman," Arte retorted. "He wants to make a new and honest life for himself. Unfortunately, Miss Posey, you and your little gang are still just as evil and rotten as you ever were. You're not trustworthy in the least!"

He looked to Pinto. "I saw Coley Rodman shortly after you got done with him. He was bleeding and burned and wild with fever-induced delirium. You must have been so proud to have been responsible for all that!"

Pinto continued to smirk, shrugging and spreading his arms. Arte's lip curled.

"Nevermind about that," Lucrece interjected. "Alright, so Pinto tortured Mr. Rodman and you don't like that. Unless Mr. Rodman plans to bring charges against him, there's nothing that can be done about it while we're here, in this time. And as for driving in the same vehicle, we'll do our best to arrange our schedules differently from yours, Mr. Gordon."

"I'll still feel worried about anyone who has to ride with you," Arte said bitterly. "In fact, I'd probably _rather_ be along, so I can see what's happening!"

"Then we'll be _sure_ to arrange our schedules differently." Lucrece smirked calmly at him. "There won't be any accidents or people held hostage. We wouldn't risk any of that."

Arte fought to get his temper under control. "No, I suppose you wouldn't," he conceded. "And I suppose there's no point in asking where you've settled down."

"No point at all," said Lucrece. "And if you try to break into the records to find our address, do be careful not to set off the alarm system." She started to walk back to the front of the building. "Come, Pinto."

Casting a last, sneering look Arte's way, Pinto trailed after her.

Arte glowered after them both. "Rotten scum," he muttered under his breath. "I don't know how I ever got it in my head that Miss Posey was a proper lady."

She was very beautiful, there was no doubt of that. And Arte supposed that it had been so strange to see her looking so sweet and kind in a stunning gown that he had simply not processed that it was possible for her to be the cold-hearted tomboy running the Posey gang.

He glanced back at the building. The instructor had left by now as well, taking several of the kids on the last driving trip of the evening, and all was in darkness. Miss Posey's suggestion of breaking in to see the records had been in Arte's mind all through the class. It was a good one, a logical one. And if there wasn't the concern of the alarm system, it was one that Arte would follow through with.

In lieu of that impossibility, Arte determined that he would just have to follow them to their stop. Lucrece was calling for a cab on a payphone. Arte was expecting the bus, but Ray had loaned him a spare cellphone in case he needed to make a call or two.

He dialed the operator. "Hello," he said in his most charming voice when she answered. "Could you please get me the number of a good, local cab company?"

xxxx

Lucrece was displeased as she hung up the phone. She knew Arte was still there. At the moment, there was nowhere for him to go. And she could imagine what he planned to do next.

"He's probably going to try to follow us in another cab," she said. "Or worse—we may have both called the same cab company and they'll figure the same man can collect all of us."

"Well, if that happens, we'll just have to lead him on a wild chase all over town," Pinto drawled, leaning on the small booth. "Maybe get out somewhere downtown."

"He'd probably decide to come along too," Lucrece said irritably. "What a burst of bad luck. Of all the many driving schools in town, why would he end up going to the very one we selected?"

"It has to be a coincidence," Pinto said. "He was genuinely shocked. His eyeballs nearly popped right out of his head when he saw us sittin' there."

"Perhaps he's staying somewhere nearby," Lucrece frowned. "This might be the closest school to his location."

"Makes sense," Pinto mused. "I dunno where he'd be at around here, though. There's a big cluster of motels and hotels right in this area."

"And he might not be using his right name." Lucrece looked to the building. "On the other hand, he certainly had no qualms about registering for the class as Artemus Gordon."

She looked back to Pinto. "It would be good to know where our enemies are keeping themselves, even if there's little they can do right now. Sergei mentioned that they want to find the portal before trying to round us up."

"And they just might not find it, even if there's one to find." Pinto pushed himself away from the booth. "Are you figurin' we'll try to trick him into headin' off to his place so we can see where it is?"

Lucrece nodded. "It would be ideal if we could get away from him without losing sight of him," she mused. "Then we could turn the tables on our Secret Service agent."

Pinto grinned. "You know I'm always up for a little trickery and deceit."

"Yes, I know."

Lucrece stepped closer to him, running a hand along his arm as they waited for their cab. Surprised by and enjoying the attention, Pinto let her. She would not want Arte to see her affection, since he was capable and willing of trickery and deceit to turn criminals against each other, but from their position and his position both she and Pinto doubted he could see anything aside from them standing together.

"I'm curious about the name you chose," she said at last. "When I first met you, you were already calling yourself Pinto. I never asked for your real name and you never volunteered it. But it occurs to me that perhaps you didn't select a random alias for this class at all. Is Peter Bowen your real name?"

Pinto smiled in the darkness. "What's in a name?"

"Not much," Lucrece said. "But if you deliberately keep that secret from me, I would have to wonder why."

Pinto shrugged. "There's no secret. It's just another life ago." He wrapped his fingers around her hand, still making certain that Arte could not see. "I haven't been Peter Bowen in a long time."

Satisfied, Lucrece relaxed, feeling the warmth of his hand. If Arte were not nearby, she would lean against him. But as it was, that would be a clearly seen giveaway. She stayed where she was.

xxxx

Lucrece's suspicions were not unfounded. Only one cab pulled up to the curb.

"I can take all of you!" the driver called, leaning out the window.

Arte gaped. "What?!" He hurried over. "But I called for a separate cab!"

"Yeah, but I'm the only one close by," the driver shrugged. "It'll be okay, unless you people really don't want to travel together."

Arte's stomach turned, but he and Lucrece and Pinto sized each other up once again. Clearly none of them were pleased with this arrangement. But they also did not want to lose track of each other. Sending for another cab would mean that they would have difficulty finding out where they were each staying.

"We'll manage," Lucrece said at last.

Pinto opened the door for her and she climbed in. Pinto followed, leaving Arte to get in on his other side. Arte pulled the door shut, rigid as he got settled in the seat.

_Which would be worse,_ he wondered, _sitting next to her or him?_

Pinto leered at him and Arte shivered. "You know, maybe you wouldn't be so unsettling if you'd talk more often," he declared.

Pinto shrugged.

"As I recall, your partner is also fond of silence," Lucrece remarked.

"Yes, but not as much as this," Arte said. "And he's not quiet in a way that sends chills up my spine. I never know what this man is plotting!"

Pinto grinned at that. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Arte threw his hands in the air. "The man speaks! And what do you know, I don't like what he said."

Pinto cackled.

The cab driver shifted, beginning to feel uneasy himself. "So, uh . . . where are you people going?" he ventured at last.

Silence fell over all of them as they tried to decide who should speak first and what false location should be given. Giving any genuine location as their abode was of course out of the question.

At last Lucrece said, "Downtown. We'll give you something more specific once we're there."

The cabbie nodded, relieved to have some place in mind to drive. "Okay, lady. We're off!"

Arte tried and failed to relax. This promised to be one disconcerting ride.

xxxx

Jim frowned, glancing at the clock in the library. It was getting late, but Arte still had not returned. Jim had not heard anything from him since his call some hours ago to let him know that Lucrece and Pinto had been in his class and he was trying to find out where they were staying.

Jim looked around the room from his chair, impatient for Arte's arrival but keeping himself outwardly calm. He was good at that.

Ray was at a nearby table, typing away on his laptop. He and Coley had spent some of the day on the green with the golf cart. Jim had decided to give it a try himself. Now, after the lessons and dinner, Ray was getting some work done.

Coley was sitting by a coffee table, playing solitaire. Earlier, he had worked on his plans for taking over as the top man in Ray's security force, from what Jim had seen and heard.

Quite a permanent position, Jim noted. Or at least, not one that could be gotten into one day and out of in a couple of weeks or months. Had Coley thought about that? He seemed to be a methodical thinker and planner; he likely had been examining the idea from all angles. And he seemed to be very serious about going on with it. Did that mean he had finally made his decision on where he wanted to stay, if space and time gave him the choice?

Jane peeked up from under the glass table, meowing as she came out from under it. Failing to get Coley's attention, she reached up and placed a paw on the nearest card.

"Hey!" Coley exclaimed. "I know you understand what I tell you. Don't _do_ that!"

Ray glanced over in amusement. "You know how Jane gets when she feels ignored."

"Yeah, well, she's got to learn that she's not the center of attention all the time," Coley grumbled.

Jane responded by leaning heavily against his leg, rubbing up and down and wrapping her tail around.

"Trust me," Ray said. "When she's in the room, she's the center of attention."

Jim smirked in amusement. Coley finally gave in, reaching down to pet the insistent cat before continuing his game. Jane half-closed her eyes, looking to Jim with an expression that clearly read, _See? I'm training him well._

It was strange, how relaxed they were, for the most part. They had not been acquainted like this for long, but tonight they felt like old friends, sharing a few pleasant moments of their time after a busy day. If Arte were here, the picture would be complete.

Coley finished the game and leaned back on the couch. Jane hopped onto his lap. He stroked her fur absently as he draped his arm across the top of the couch and looked to Jim. "How long has it been since Gordon called?"

Jim came to attention. "Too long," he said flatly. "Those two have had ample time to do something to ensure that Arte won't be around to bother them anymore."

"Do you think they would?" Ray frowned. "They'd be risking a lot, to kill someone now. People would ask questions at the class if he didn't go back."

Jim nodded. "I'm not saying they would have really done it," he said. "I'm just saying they've had the time." He got up, crossing to the window. "They're probably going all over the city on a wild goose chase. But what bothers me most is that Arte hasn't called again." He turned to face the others in the room. "They might be riding in the same cab and he can't risk it."

"That'd figure." Coley watched as Jane stretched out on his chest, looking up at him.

Ray watched too. "That's something your old gang probably would have never thought they'd see," he chuckled.

". . . If anyone had told me several weeks ago that I'd be letting a cat do this, I would've said they were crazy." Coley spoke flatly. "And don't think I'll be letting it happen much."

"Oh, of course not."

Everyone looked up at the additional voice. Arte was standing in the doorway, weary and putout, but he managed some level of amusement at Coley and Jane.

Jim hurried over. "Arte, what happened?" he demanded. "You didn't call."

Arte held up the cellphone. "First I couldn't, because we were all in the same cab. Then I couldn't get it to work."

Ray got up. "The battery must have run down," he said apologetically, reaching for it.

Arte handed it over. "It has been one wild night, let me tell you." He shuffled into the library and collapsed in the nearest chair. "Oh brother."

Jim went over and rested his hand on the top of the overstuffed chair. "Did you find anything out?"

"Not where they live, I'll tell you that," Arte mumbled. He leaned back, covering his eyes with a hand.

"Surely they didn't keep the cab driver going around in circles," Ray exclaimed. "They wouldn't have the money to waste."

"No, they didn't do that, either," Arte sighed. "They decided to get off downtown and go eat or something. I followed them, but I lost them in the crowd. Some stores were having a pre-Thanksgiving sale or something like that. Half the city must have turned out for that!"

"So you finally came back," Jim summed up.

Arte nodded. "Only about halfway here, I had the most uncomfortable feeling that the cab was being followed. We tried several things to lose them, but I'm not sure we ever did."

"So they might know about this place now," Jim frowned.

"I'm afraid they might." Arte pushed himself out of the chair. "I'm sorry, Mr. Norman. I hope this won't cause any trouble for you or Rodman."

"They're probably only interested in you and Mr. West," Ray said. "And they probably just want to know where you're staying."

Jim nodded. "Probably."

"I'd still feel a lot better if they _didn't_ know," Arte said. "That was one very strange cab ride. We were all sitting on the back seat, stiff as boards. You could have cut the tension with a knife!"

"I don't envy you, Arte," Jim said.

"How was the class, aside from them being there?" Ray wondered.

Arte brightened a bit. "Marvelous, Mr. Norman. _Mar-vel-ous!_ They talked all about the mechanics of the automobile and showed how certain things worked. In spite of those _other_ pupils, I can hardly wait for tomorrow's class!"

Jim smiled. "And then you'll get another chance to figure out where they're staying."

Arte made a face. "Well, don't take all the fun out of it!"

He headed for the door. "Anyway, I think I'll grab a late-night snack before bed. All of that running around got me hungry. Goodnight, all!"

Jim followed him into the hall. "Goodnight," he echoed.

Ray returned the sentiment, while Coley half-waved in reply. Jane looked over and meowed.

". . . Gordon talked to me right before he left for his class," Coley said once they were alone.

"Oh?" Ray blinked in surprise. "What did he want?" Coley, not being one to volunteer information, must have some reason why he felt this particular conversation would interest Ray.

Coley petted Jane while he talked. "He'd seen me making out some of my plans for how to fix up security around here," he said. "And he said you'd told him about offering me the job. I figured you told him because you hoped that he wouldn't try to get in the way and you wanted to see what he'd do."

"That's right," Ray admitted. "That was exactly the reason. Otherwise I would have felt that it was your business to tell him, not mine."

Coley nodded. "He said if I wanted to stay here, he wasn't going to stand in my way." There was a definite note of awe in his voice. "I don't think it was just because he and West don't have any legal claim on me here."

Ray smiled. "I don't think so, either." He paused. "And . . . do you? Want to stay, that is." He wanted to know, yet dreaded it as well. At the same time, he hoped he was sure of what Coley's answer would be.

Coley looked to him. "For now, yeah. I've decided I want to stay."

Ray leaned back in obvious relief. "I'm glad."

Jane purred in bliss. Coley stared down at her. "Is it just my imagination, or is she even louder now?"

Ray laughed. "I doubt it's your imagination. She wants you here too."

Coley considered that. "Yeah," he mused. "Yeah, I guess she does. Crazy cat."

xxxx

Lucrece frowned, studying the gates of the Oak Bridge Golf Club. "This is an odd place for Mr. Gordon to take up residence," she said.

Pinto nodded in agreement. "And if he's here, West has to be too."

Lucrece shrugged and turned away. "Well, there's nothing more we can do about it tonight. They've settled in, so we'll leave them and go home to study up on their location. There has to be a special reason why they chose this golfing club above a normal hotel."

A gun clicked. "Maybe they just like golf."

Both Lucrece and Pinto stiffened at the third voice. Drawing their own weapons from their concealed locations, they found themselves staring directly at Snakes. The traitorous former board member was emerging from behind a tree, his gun pointed directly at them.

Lucrece regarded him in repulsion. "Well, Snakes, you don't seem so cowardly now. You aren't hiding behind Florence tonight?"

His eyes went wide in shock. "How do you know about Florence?!" he cried.

"Come now. You knew you weren't sure if you could trust her." Lucrece smirked at him. "She found us and told us about you. And she made her own deal with us as well as with you. I could be lying, of course, but do you know a better way that I could have found out about your partnership?"

Snakes wavered but then held the gun steady. "Then it's a good thing I decided to go looking on my own and not wait for her." He gave her an ugly sneer. "I found some new warfare that tips things in my favor without even having to rely on her or anyone else to get this job done."

"If you kill us now, you won't know where to find the others," Lucrece pointed out.

"I'll just ask Flo." Snakes grinned, cold and determined. "I read about a new character hanging out with the owner of this club. It sounded like Little Pinto, so I thought I should drop in and check. Now you two have saved me the trouble of sneaking inside."

"What?" Pinto frowned. "I don't even know the owner."

"You can lie about it if you want, pal," Snakes said. "I really couldn't care one way or the other." Without warning he fired, aiming directly at Pinto's chest.

At the same moment Pinto returned fire, so did Lucrece. The bullet clipped her arm as she lunged forward, but she ignored the sudden burst of pain.

The floodlights near the gates instantly snapped on. "What's going on out there?!" a security guard yelled.

Snakes swore. He had dived to the ground, barely missing both shots. Pinto and Lucrece had paused, glaring at the lights and waiting to see what Snakes would do now. He struggled up, grabbing his hat as he went.

"This isn't over," he vowed. "This time you won't get the better of me, Miss Posey. You're not all-powerful here."

Pinto looked up, fixing him with a rare expression of hatred. "You're goin' to pay for what you did," he vowed. "And if you hurt Lucrece again, I'll make you wish you'd stayed dead back in our time." He sneered. "You know I can back that up."

"I know." Snakes fled into the shadows as several security guards came running towards the gates. "I see your feelings for that poisonous Posey haven't changed a bit. You'd better be careful, or someday she might scratch you to death like she did me."

Pinto glowered after him until he was no longer in sight. Then he turned his attention back to Lucrece, who was just starting to pay attention to her arm.

"You didn't have to go and do that," he exclaimed. "I had my gun on him."

"And neither of us did a good job of hitting him, thanks to this interruption," Lucrece retorted. The lights were already on them. If they tried to run now, they might be shot. She held still, frowning at the blood.

"Who are you?" the security guard in the lead called. "And what's your business here? We heard gunshots!"

"It was nothing to do with you," Lucrece said boredly. "We were exchanging fire with a personal enemy who tracked us here. If you'll let us go, we plan to leave now."

"Not until the police are called," the guard declared. "And an ambulance. Lady, you're wounded!"

"It's just a scratch," Lucrece insisted. "Let's get out of here, Pinto. They won't shoot us."

"Wait a minute."

The new voice was dark and familiar and eerily like Pinto's, minus the drawl. Coley stepped into the light by the gate, his gun trained on them both. Ray, Jim, and Arte were coming up behind him.

Pinto studied his double with an entertained smirk, but it was vaguely strained. "Well, I knew it must be you that Snakes was talkin' about, but I couldn't figure out what you'd be doin' at a place like this. I'd really like to stay and chew the fat with you, but see, we've gotta get back home."

"And just where would _home_ be?" Arte demanded, flatly unamused as he came up on Coley's left side.

"Wherever we hang our hats," Pinto said. "So to speak." He had worn his to the class, but Lucrece had opted to not do likewise.

"We don't have any quarrel with any of you tonight," Lucrece spoke. "Let us depart and we won't bother you."

"And what guarantee do we have that you'll keep your word?" Jim asked, appearing on Coley's right side.

"None," Lucrece said. "You will simply have to trust us. We have more pressing problems than you at the moment." She clapped her left hand over her arm. The bleeding was starting to annoy her. Even such minor injuries seemed to produce copious amounts of blood.

"You really _are_ hurt," Arte noted in surprise. "We heard the shots too."

"And since you're right outside my property, it's completely my business to know what happened," Ray stated firmly.

"He knows everything," Coley said. "You don't have to pretend with him. Was Tolliver out here? I don't know who else you'd be fighting."

"Yes, it was Snakes." Lucrece regarded him with both curiosity and annoyance. "And you told this man everything, Mr. Rodman? I would have thought you had more sense than that. You can't trust anyone here."

"I really must've knocked your brains loose," Pinto sneered.

"He's trustworthy," Coley growled. "He won't turn any of us in, unless we commit new crimes."

"I could call in _disturbing the peace_ right now for you two," Ray snapped.

"It was self-defense," Lucrece replied in irritation. "Believe it or don't; I don't care."

She looked to where their cab was parked. The driver was still hunched behind the wheel, his eyes wide and terrified. Finally growing convinced that the shooting was over, he started to straighten.

"We're leaving," Lucrece said. "Pinto, get the shells."

Coley glared, watching as she headed for the cab while Pinto gathered the spent shell casings before going with her.

"I guess an apology for getting us all up like this would be too much to ask," Arte grumbled.

Pinto tossed the shells in his hand. "Yep." He touched the brim of his hat in a mocking manner and made his way to the cab, where Lucrece was waiting. As they got in on the backseat, he immediately began to tend to her arm.

Arte sighed, watching the cab pull away from the curb. "What a night," he moaned. "Oh look, Mr. Norman, I'm terribly sorry about all this. If I just hadn't lost track of them earlier!"

Ray sighed too and shook his head. "Sooner or later it would have happened anyway," he said.

"What I want to know is, What was Snakes Tolliver doing here?" Jim frowned. "Did he follow those two? Or was that just a chance meeting?"

"Maybe this newspaper will help answer the question," Arte suggested, pointing to where a fresh piece of newspaper had blown against the gate nearby. "It wasn't there when I came in. Maybe, just maybe, Snakes dropped it."

Coley went over and reached through the bars, pulling it to him. "Yeah," he said then. "Maybe he did."

The others hurried to him, crowding around the paper from all angles. Coley's attention was fixed on a short piece involving Ray and the golf club. It included a description of Coley and the reporter's musing on who he was to Ray.

Coley looked like he wanted to crunch the paper in his gloved hands. "This description of me is good enough to have got Tolliver's interest," he said. "If he thought I was Pinto, he'd probably swoop down here as fast as he could go."

"That's probably exactly what happened!" Arte declared. "He mistook you for Pinto and came out here, coincidentally just in time to run into the real Pinto."

"They fought and Miss Posey was shot in the fray," Jim added.

Ray looked sickened. "And if Snakes hadn't realized the truth and had kept on thinking that Coley was Pinto . . ." He shook his head and ran his hand down his face. He did not want to think about it.

"He didn't," Coley interrupted. "And that's all that's important. Now, if he knows it's me here, he won't be back. There's nothing he would want with me."

"Oh, don't be so sure," Arte cautioned. "If he finds out that Pinto tortured you, he might try to make a deal with you to get at Pinto and all the others."

"I'd tell him No," Coley said flatly. "I don't care if Pinto dies, but I don't want any part of it if he does." He turned, heading back towards the main building. Ray hastened after him, while Jim and Arte trailed behind.

"Well?" Arte said in an undertone. "What do you think, Jim?"

Jim considered his answer before replying. "I think," he said, slowly and deliberately, "that things probably aren't going to be so quiet around here any more."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

"_So, how are you doing today?"_

_Coley glowered at Pinto as the other man entered the room. He was carrying a strange device, something that looked a bit similar to the old flatiron Coley's mother had in their house. But this one was shiny and white and had a long cord attached, which Pinto was gathering up like a lasso._

"_It's not like you're really interested in my health," Coley retorted. "And what's that thing?"_

"_This?" Pinto swung the heavy end of the cord around in the air. "This here's an electric iron. They get awfully hot." He stuck the plug into the outlet on the wall. "It doesn't take a long time to happen, either, like it did with our mamas' old irons."_

_Coley tensed, moving as far away from it as his bonds would allow. "And you're going to try it out on me, aren't you?"_

_Pinto shrugged. "Sounds like a good way to figure out what it can __**really**__ do." He sneered, holding it up near Coley's face. "Just feel that. The heat and steam are already comin' out of those little holes."_

_Coley turned away. His stomach was beginning to twist up in knots. He may have run some bluffs threatening alarming methods of torture in the past, but he would not have gone through with them. Pinto, on the other hand, would fully delight in going through with each and every one. Coley had no doubt whatsoever that Pinto was going to press that thing against his skin. And he was legitimately horrified._

"_Oooh, you're scared, aren't ya?" Pinto taunted, leaning on the wall next to Coley with one arm. "Maybe you're afraid I'm gonna disfigure that handsome face of yours."_

"_Somehow I don't think you would," Coley grunted. "Not when I look like you."_

"_Maybe I'd figure there wasn't room for two of me," Pinto smirked._

_Without warning he struck out, pressing the tip of the iron against Coley's right wrist. Coley screamed in pain, pulling his arm away as best as he could. It was already burning, melting. And Pinto's sadistic laughter was ringing in his ears._

Coley screamed in the present day, too. He woke up leaping from the bed, clutching his wrist in his semi-aware state.

He breathed heavily, trying to force himself to calm down as the remnants of sleep faded from his mind. It was over; he was healing. Pinto was not there now.

But Pinto had been there. And apparently Coley was still deeply bothered by what had happened to him, if seeing Pinto again had triggered that remembrance of the torture through his dreams.

He stared at his wrist, still cradled in his left hand. It was bandaged, but he had looked at it earlier that day. Under the dressing, it was slowly healing, still hurting, and still looked as though it was going to leave a scar. Right now he did not care about the latter; he just wanted the skin to grow back. He was sick of all the bandages up and down his arms.

"Rodman?!" Rapid knocking on the door accompanied Arte's concerned voice. "Rodman, are you alright?"

Coley swore in his mind. He really had screamed. And he had been heard. That was mortifying.

"Yeah," he called back. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"You're sure." Arte really did sound worried. "You're not just saying that because someone's in there holding a gun to your head?"

Coley smirked in a bit of touched amusement. "Gordon, if someone managed to get past the guards like that, I think even they'd be sounding the alarm by now. I can't imagine that either Pinto or Snakes knows how to turn off a complicated security system."

Arte sighed, leaning on the door. "I wasn't thinking of only them," he admitted. "There's still Jason Everly and whoever's spying for him."

"That's true," Coley conceded.

"And they might know how to turn the system off. At least, the spy might. So, just to humor me, how about you come to the door so I can see you're alright?"

Coley raised an eyebrow, but threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. "You're _that_ worried about me?"

"I've never heard you scream like that, Rodman. It was positively chilling. You sounded as though someone was murdering you then and there."

Coley reached the door and opened it, allowing the light from the hall to stream into the room. "Okay, Gordon," he said. "Are you satisfied?"

Arte took a long look at him and then stepped into the doorway, flipping on the light. "I suppose I am," he relented. "Although . . . would you mind very much if I checked the bathroom?"

Coley shrugged. "Go ahead. But there wasn't anybody hiding in the tub the last time I checked."

"I don't really expect to find anyone in here," Arte admitted, peering under the bed on his way to the connecting bathroom. "You look alright, it's true. I was just startled half out of my mind by that scream."

Coley leaned on the doorframe leading into the bathroom, watching Arte wander about and pull the shower curtain aside to look in the tub. "I wonder who else heard it," he muttered, still frustrated at himself for having screamed.

Arte turned back to face him. "I don't think anyone did," he said. "Jim's talking to Mr. Norman in another part of the building."

"Why are they still up?" Coley frowned.

"Jim woke up and wanted to make sure no one had broken in," Arte said. "Mr. Norman had woke up too and was coming back from checking on Mrs. Featherstone. He and Jim just happened to meet."

Coley nodded. "That makes sense."

Arte headed out of the bathroom and back towards the door into the hall. Halfway there, he stopped and again looked back. ". . . Rodman, I can't even begin to imagine what happened to you when you were Pinto's prisoner," he said in all seriousness. "But I know from when I saw you soon after that, that it was unspeakably horrible. It's not a shameful thing to still be affected by it."

Coley started, staring at him in shocked surprise. "Gordon, what makes you think . . ."

"It's the only other explanation I can think of," Arte interjected. "You wouldn't be screaming for the fun of it. But may I make a suggestion?"

"It's a free country," Coley said with a shrug, still reeling from this entire scene.

"Don't keep all that pain bottled up inside," Arte implored. "I know Mr. Norman would be a very willing listening ear. Well . . . so would I, for that matter . . . but Mr. Norman would be able to understand your situation better."

Coley gave him a long and thoughtful look. "I never would have thought the day would come when _you'd_ be worried about _me._ And yet that's been happening all along on this trip, ever since we teamed up back in Justice."

"That seems like an eon ago now," Arte said ruefully. Completely sobering, he continued, "But yes, I don't think I ever would have imagined it, either."

"That bluff I made with the ferrets." Coley fixed his gaze on Arte's eyes. "Have you ever forgiven me for that?"

Arte paused. "Strangely enough, I haven't even thought about that in a long time." He smiled. "Yes, I think I _have_ forgiven you, Rodman. As long as you don't do it again."

Coley smirked. "I don't have plans for that."

"Good. Well, I'll get out of here to let you go back to sleep." Arte moved into the corridor. "Goodnight, Rodman."

"Goodnight." Coley watched as Arte pulled the door shut. Shaking his head, he went over and locked the door with the cardkey before turning off the light and climbing into bed.

_We really have come a long way,_ he thought to himself. _Every one of us. And you know, I think I like it._

He rolled onto his side and pulled the covers up.

Maybe he would not have any trouble getting a decent sleep after all.

xxxx

Lucrece watched as Pinto placed a proper bandage on her right upper arm. They were back at the house, having arrived without any particular difficulty, and were standing in the upstairs bathroom. Lucrece, having abandoned her blouse so the wound would be easier to tend to, was adorned in the modern tank top she had been using as an undershirt. The first-aid kit lay open on the counter.

"There," Pinto said in satisfaction. "Bleeding's finally stopped, and I got it cleaned up and fixed. You should be just fine now."

"Of course I will be. I had no doubt of it." Lucrece examined her arm and the bandage. "You did a good job."

"Part of knowing about pain is knowing how to stop it." Pinto closed the first-aid kit and put it away in the medicine cabinet.

Lucrece closed her eyes, admittedly enjoying it when he embraced her from behind and held her close. "I suppose. But, knowing what you're capable of doing, it's still strange to find that you're also capable of being quite gentle." She rested her hands on his arms. "I saw from the way Mr. Rodman moved that he is still coping with what you put him through."

"I figured he would be." Pinto chuckled. "But boy, I never thought he'd be in a high-falutin' place like that. I'd think he'd want out after five minutes. Instead he acted like he'd settled right in!"

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway." Lucrece stepped away from him, deciding they should really vacate the bathroom. "He can do whatever he pleases; he's of no consequence to us. Is he?" She turned to face him, her loose hair sweeping over her shoulders with the motion.

Pinto followed her into the hall, switching off the light. "I'm not going to do anything more to him."

"Good."

"I'm just wondering what's going to happen now that you told Snakes about Flo showin' up here."

Lucrece's expression twisted in annoyance. "I had hoped it would unsettle him enough that we would be able to rid ourselves of him if he attacked. As it is, I'm not that concerned. They will probably simply sever their ties. Perhaps Florence will even take care of Snakes herself, since he's aware of her designs. On the other hand, she might not even bother. She might still hope that he will lead her to the portal, even if we won't."

"I can't figure that lady out," Pinto mused. "It seems like instead of double-dealing, she's triple-dealing or more!"

"She'll try anything that she thinks will help her gain what she wants most—power."

Pinto nodded. "She's dangerous." He smirked. "But not more than you. She's met her match now, I'd say."

Lucrece smirked too. "I certainly intend to show her that, if she gives me reason to."

"Miss Posey?"

Both of them turned at the sound of Sergei's voice. He and Cyril were approaching from the stairs, but they stopped in bewilderment at the sight of Lucrece and Pinto standing in the hall. Particularly Lucrece's bare and wounded arm.

"Miss Posey, what happened?!" Sergei demanded.

"We ran into Snakes," Lucrece said in disgust. "He opened fire on us and we fired back. Unfortunately, he's still alive and he got away."

"I should have set him on fire, as I threatened to do when Pinto and I found him on the street." Cyril was equally revolted.

"You couldn't have done it with all those people there," Pinto objected.

"Sadly true," Cyril conceded.

"Nevermind about the past," Lucrece said. "We have to concentrate on the future."

"And what is going to happen in the future?" Sergei demanded. "Did Snakes come back with you?"

"No," Lucrece frowned. "We made certain we were not being followed."

"Anyway, after we took aim at him like we did, he's probably hiding like a scared rabbit," Pinto sneered.

"He might go back to that golf club again," Lucrece mused. "Depending on if he stayed around long enough to learn that it isn't you, but Mr. Rodman, there."

"What golf club?" Sergei wondered.

Pinto waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "Oak Bridge. West and Gordon are hanging out there too."

"And don't worry about them, either," said Lucrece. "They still don't know where we are. Although it may prove awkward trying to keep Mr. Gordon from finding out. He's in our class."

"That is bad," Sergei frowned.

"Yep," said Pinto.

"Where are the others?" Lucrece asked.

"Brutus is in the gym and Gallito is feeding his spiders," Sergei reported.

"Are we having a board meeting?" Cyril wondered.

Lucrece paused, considering it. "Not right now," she said. "But I'm going to prepare the alarm system on a higher setting, just in case Snakes managed to slip over here without our knowledge. Florence could have easily gone back on her deal and simply told him of our location." She walked past the men and to the stairs. "All of you should come and watch. You need to learn how to set the alarm at various levels yourselves."

Pinto already knew how. But he headed downstairs with her. After exchanging a look, Sergei and Cyril accompanied them.

xxxx

Coley sighed and flung back the covers. He was still too wide-awake from the dream to go back to sleep, even though talking with Arte had settled him down a bit. Maybe he would wander around the club a while and that would tire him out. He needed to memorize the entire layout if he wanted to take over as chief of security.

And, as he had told Ray, he did. He had decided at long last to stay here, no matter what happened with the discovery of the portal.

He had felt at peace since making his decision. That was encouraging; he had detested the feelings of unrest and conflict since he had first begun to wrestle with his dilemma. And perhaps, if the portal was found and Jim and Arte would be going back, they could take a letter from him to his mother. At least she would know he was safe and happy.

He stepped into the hall. It was empty, which he had expected. He wandered up the corridor, not really sure where he was going. He looked at his surroundings without really seeing them, lost in thought. When he finally pushed through the door labeled Kitchen, he stopped and came back to himself.

Ray was sitting at a round table in the corner with a mug of something. He looked up, smiling at Coley. "Mr. Gordon said you might not be able to sleep for a while."

"Oh, he did, huh?" Coley sank down at the table with him. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing, really. He just suggested I wait up a bit, if I wasn't too tired." Ray indicated the mug. "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

Coley shrugged. "Sure." Seeing the kettle on the stove, he got up to get his own.

Ray drank calmly, not speaking, waiting for Coley to make the first move.

Coley liked that. He gathered his thoughts as he ladled the beverage into the mug.

". . . Did you ever see Portman after you were rescued?" He glanced at Ray out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, concerned as to how Ray would react.

The other man visibly shuddered. "Once," he said. "Not in person, oh no. The doctors felt there was no way I would be able to go through with it. And they were sure of it all the more after that _once._"

He gazed into his mug. "She was on the television, being taken to a car after being judged unfit to stand trial. I saw her there and I . . . I screamed. I grabbed the nearest object and I . . . well, I flung it at the television set." He shook his head, his lips in a wry smirk. "It was a stupid, juvenile thing to do. At least, that's how I feel about it now. The doctors, well, they told me it was just too soon, that I couldn't handle seeing her again, even if I knew she couldn't get at me through the television." He sighed. "And I guess that was true."

Coley came back to the table. "And now?"

Ray traced a random pattern on the table with a finger. "Now, I'm afraid I'm obsessive the other direction," he said. "I look up every bit of information about her that I can find. I want to know what she's doing. I want to make sure she's still in the asylum. And I think . . . the more I know about what's happening to her now, the more I can be prepared for what might happen if she ever breaks out."

"There's not much to find, is there?"

Ray looked up. "Every now and then there's something. Going into an institution doesn't change the press's desire for information. She's done so many horrible things to so many hapless people. And I guess they feel that the public wants to know what she's doing . . . if she's making any progress. . . . She isn't, by the way. At least if the newspapers are to be believed, she's stymied all her doctors. That doesn't surprise me."

Coley grunted. "I wonder what they'd make of Pinto." He stirred the liquid with a spoon. "You know, the most unsettling thing about him is that he doesn't exactly seem crazy. I'm not sure he is."

Ray gripped his mug. "Can someone torture another human being without being crazy?"

"I'm no doctor. I have no idea." Coley stared into the distance. "It's not like I never threatened to do awful things to people. I did, if I wanted information from them. And they'd pretty much always crack. They thought I meant it. I didn't, but I still made them believe I did. I'd push it as far as I could go without really doing it. Some of them got real scared. You'd think I'd been torturing them to death, the way some of them carried on."

Ray looked down. "But you still didn't do it. And you wanted information, which seems different than if you were just after the fun of it, like . . ." He stopped.

"Like Pinto did with me?" Coley laughed, darkly. "Oh, he wanted information too. Make no mistake on that. He wanted to know what made me tick."

He ran his hand over his bandaged wrist. "I didn't think it shook me up to see him tonight. I had the upper hand; I could have shot him any time I wanted. But it bothered me, alright. I dreamed about when he did _this_ to me."

Ray shuddered, looking at him with understanding. "You said before that you still dreamed about what he did."

"Yeah, but I never woke up screaming before. I mean, not since I was sick." Coley sipped at the hot chocolate. "He brought the iron out, warmed it up, and teased me with it. I knew he wouldn't stop there; he'd really hurt me with it. I just didn't know when and I didn't know where. Then he pressed part of it on my wrist and I screamed.

"That's how it really happened. I dreamed it all again, and it was like I could feel that thing searing into my skin, just like it did. I woke up yelling my lungs out and Gordon heard and thought someone was trying to kill me on the spot." Coley shook his head. "He came in and checked all around to make sure I was really alone. Before he left, he acted like he'd figured out what happened." He sighed. "I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. So I got up and wandered around."

"It's horrible to dream about it," Ray said. "It really is like it's happening all over again. It feels so _real._"

"It's creepy. I went through it once; why does my mind have to make me do it more?" Coley sounded bitter now.

"I don't know." Ray shook his head. "Maybe, subconsciously, we still can't let go."

"You said you don't have the dreams as much as you used to," Coley said.

"Yes, they lessen with time. But unfortunately, I . . . I still don't know whether they ever go away altogether."

"Then I guess there's nothing to do but wait and find out."

"I guess." Ray clenched a fist on the table. "I'm sorry you had to see him tonight."

"I knew I'd have to see him again sometime. Maybe having it be sooner instead of later will force me to get over it quicker."

Ray sighed. "I wish I had that mindset. If I actually went to the asylum to see Portman, I can envision having hysterics—even if I managed not to show it outwardly. I want to know what's happening with her, but I want it to be from afar. I don't want to see her in person." He paused. "It isn't just because of how I think I'd react, either. I'm afraid that if she saw me, it would make her fascinated again and she'd try even harder to get out and get back to me."

"I'll do everything I can to make sure she never gets in here," Coley vowed.

Ray smiled. "With you running security, I have the confidence that she won't."

"You put a lot of confidence in me."

"You've proven you're worthy of it."

Coley processed that. "Well . . . thanks."

"Are you feeling any better now?"

"Yeah, I think so." Coley pushed aside the empty mug. "I'm going back to bed. Are you coming?"

Ray nodded. "Sleep sounds wonderful." He took his mug to the counter and rinsed it out.

Coley followed suit. He switched off the light as they headed into the hall.

It was strange, he mused to himself. He had lived in many unconventional abodes through the years, even an abandoned military fort. He had never expected any of those places to feel like a home.

But this fancy, high-society golf club did.

xxxx

Arte sighed and yawned, stretching as he entered the room he shared with Jim. Seeing that Jim was currently awake, and standing and looking towards the window, Arte spoke. "Oh brother, what a day. What a night!"

Jim glanced over. "Everything seems calm, at least," he reported. "How were things in your part of the club?"

"Fine, fine." Arte shut the door and ran a hand into his hair. "Mr. Norman is still up. Coley might be; I'm not sure. But I know where _I_ want to be!"

Jim reached and dimmed the light before climbing into his bed. "That's right; you have to get your sleep to be in good form for the class tomorrow," he mused.

"Yes!" Arte promptly collapsed into the other bed. "And I have to start studying for the test to get my learner's permit. Then I can get behind the wheel and really have some good, old-fashioned, hands-on training!"

"Don't you have to finish taking the classes first?" Jim wondered.

"To actually take the test, yes," Arte nodded. "But I can be studying all along the way. I'll start in the morning." His speech already sounded slurred.

Jim smiled. In spite of Arte's great excitement over the prospect of driving an automobile, and in spite of all the calamities of the evening, nothing was going to deter him from sleep. That was a good thing.

"Alright, Arte," he said. "Good luck with that. And goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jim." Arte pulled up the covers. "I'll give you the first ride after I get my license."

"I'm looking forward to it," Jim said, although he imagined Arte might already be fast asleep.

And he seemed to be, as Jim received no reply.

Smiling, and hoping that the presence of Lucrece and Pinto would not create a continuing hiccup in the class, Jim dozed.

xxxx

Snakes darted through the shadowed streets, keeping to the darkness wherever he could.

He had left the Oak Bridge Golf Club far behind him, much to his relief. He had no plans to return, either. As Lucrece had wondered, he _had_ lingered long enough to hear that Coley Rodman was staying there. And he had no special interest in Coley Rodman, at least not now. He had his self-preservation to think about.

He wasn't going to go back to Florence's hideout. He had already decided that on his own, but what Lucrece Posey had told him moments before cemented his feelings. If he confronted Florence with that information, she would either deny it or confirm it—and if she did the latter, she would most likely not allow him to leave again.

He could say nothing, but after what he had heard, and considering his unfamiliarity with modern devices that could be used by her against him, he preferred not to return at all.

He had always felt that Florence was not trustworthy, most especially since she was not above doing as he had done to Miss Posey in the past. But he could not say that it had been a mistake to go to her; he had discovered a wealth of explosive devices and methods that had not existed in his time.

It had been when he had unearthed those materials that he had determined to sever his partnership with Florence. When he had left the building that night, after losing the men she had posted to keep watch on him, he had stolen a great amount of said explosive devices from F.O.W.L.

He would look for the portal himself, he vowed. And if and when he found it, he would find a way to trick all of his enemies into getting on one side of it while he got on the other. He did not particularly care which side he was on, as long as he was away from them. Then he would detonate the devices he would set around the portal, collapsing it and trapping them where they could not get at him.

Only then would he be safe.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes: Sorry to anyone I prematurely told otherwise, but once again the idea of a small timeskip has laughed in my face. The story continues to proceed in real-time!**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Lucrece was standing on the porch late that evening when Pinto came out to her. She glanced his way, a pleased smile gracing her lips. "Is everything taken care of?"

Everyone had engaged in a late dinner, having sent for it from a place that delivered. Cartons had ended up strewn all over the table, much to Lucrece's displeasure. She liked order and organization. That was one reason why she detested in-fighting among the board members.

Pinto chuckled. "Yep. They're cleaning up and Sergei is munching on leftovers."

Lucrece smirked, but was concerned. "And we don't have any idea where Snakes or Florence has vanished to." She walked to the railing and stood with crossed arms, looking over the other houses on the street. Several already had Christmas lights brightly shining in the night, despite the fact that it was not yet Thanksgiving. It was a new sight to her and she watched for a while, lost in thought.

"They'll probably show up when we need them the least," Pinto said. He went to the railing too and leaned on it with both arms.

"Which would be any time," Lucrece muttered.

She stepped closer to Pinto, hesitant, and ran her hand over his back. She was still unused to these feelings of wanting to show affection for reasons other than superficially wanting satisfaction and pleasure. They had come in the past but she had not recognized them for what they were. Or, perhaps, she had simply refused to recognize them as such.

Pinto turned, looking to her with a smile. "That feels nice."

Encouraged, Lucrece stayed beside him, looking out at the street while continuing to rub at his back. For a few moments at least, the problems of their lives and the world in general faded, leaving them with only this scene, this current point in time. It was both surreal and nice, but the sensation ended all too soon. The real world was calling.

"Pinto . . . what's going to happen to us?" she said at last.

"Hmm?" He straightened, looking to her in genuine confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lucrece shrugged. "Whether we stay or go back, what will _happen?_ Will this continue? Will we decide it isn't working out? Will we . . . possibly marry?"

Pinto searched her eyes, surprised and moved by her current vulnerability—and moreso, the fact that she was letting him see any part of it.

"For me, I think it's working out fine," he said. He took her in his arms. "Better than fine. I always wanted to believe you loved me. I thought it was impossible, that you'd never love any man."

"I thought so too." Lucrece rested against his shoulder. "I'm not sure I really understand what it means to love. Perhaps that's at least part of why I'm still not sure I can say that I . . ." She trailed off.

Pinto kissed her. "I'd sure like to help you figure it out."

Lucrece smiled a bit. "I'm sure you would." She sobered. "I can't stand any hint of a thought that you might die. I don't want you to leave me again. But do I feel that way because of love? You think so, but I don't know."

"I guess, really . . . you have to figure that part out for yourself," Pinto said. "I know what I think, but I can't sort out your feelings for you. Even if I'd like to." He paused. "And if you're up to marrying sometime, I know I am."

"I'll think about it." Lucrece looked up at him in the darkness. "What about starting a family?"

"Can't say I'd mind another generation," Pinto said. "And then there'd be someone to carry on the family business once we're gone."

"If there ever is a family business," Lucrece said dryly.

"There will be," Pinto said with confidence. "You'll make sure of it."

Lucrece smirked. It was nice, to have someone believe in her that much.

"We should get inside," she said. "The alarm system is on; it's safer in there."

Pinto nodded. "That's true, I guess. Snakes could always pop up out of the darkness and think he's got us. Worse, maybe he would."

He kept an arm around Lucrece as they turned, heading for the front door. At his side, she relaxed as they went.

Perhaps that dream _had_ revealed her worst fears to her. The thought of never being able to tell Pinto what he longed to hear, while he was alive, was haunting. But that still did not mean she wanted to rush into anything. If or when she managed to tell Pinto she loved him, she wanted her words to be absolutely sincere and true.

Yet, on the other hand, she wondered, could they be any more sincere and true than she felt they would be if she spoke now? Maybe she did not know what it really meant to love, but was she using that as her excuse for holding back? Was it just a mask for her wall, a last defense against giving in to the unknown?

They stepped into the entryway and she looked up at him in the light. "Pinto . . ."

He looked back. "Hmm?"

She kissed him, hoping it would give her the strength to say it.

It didn't.

"I'm glad you're with me," she whispered instead.

He held her close. "I'm glad too."

If he suspected, or was disappointed, he gave no indication of it. Actually, he seemed quite pleased and happy by her words.

She moved her hand along his shirt, open at the first two buttons. "The wound in your chest. It's still healing, isn't it?" She had not seen it since that first day, that bizarre day when Pinto had come to her and showed it to her to try to prove that he was the real Pinto, the one James West had killed.

_The real Pinto, come back to life again._

"Yeah. It'll be all healed up sooner or later. Then there'll be nothing but a fading scar."

She smiled. "Good." With it completely mended, to her it would be a grand symbol of his life, of Dr. Faustina's successful experiments over death, of the proof that he was there and would continue to be there.

He took her hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over her fingers. She let him, feeling perfectly at ease and enjoying the soothing sensation.

Yes, she decided. She could see herself marrying him in the future, no matter where and when their future might happen to be.

xxxx

Ray sat in his room, shuffling papers from the nightstand and gathering his thoughts. He was going to call his chief of security into his office for an important meeting later that morning, after he finally managed to get some decent sleep. He wanted to know why the guards had been so inefficient lately. And he wanted to inform the chief that he was most likely being replaced, if the man Ray had in mind for the job could do it better.

He had decided while sitting in the kitchen that even though he was angry and unhappy with the inefficiency, it would only be fair to give the man _some_ warning, instead of firing him on the spot. And in case Coley found he did not like the job after all, he should not end up having to take the position because there was no one else to do it. There could be a trial period, to see if Coley liked it and could do better than the previous man.

He would talk with Coley about the idea too, come morning. He hoped that by now, Coley was peacefully sleeping in bed, which was what Ray wanted to do as well, now that he had scratched out his ideas.

Not even trying to hold back the immense yawn, Ray dimmed the light and swung his legs onto the mattress. The sheets felt cool and pleasant and Ray smiled.

He still hated the heat. Not that he liked to be cold, but it was difficult for him to get to the point where he _was_ cold. Anything cool felt comforting and good, whereas anything too hot made him begin to tense up. It was impossible for him not to associate heat with Dr. Portman and Hell and her inhumane experiments on him.

It made him worry over how he was going to handle the sweltering Southern California summer next year. This past year he had been in the sanitarium all summer, where it had not been a problem. Now that he was out, he had to stay in Los Angeles until his probation was over, and the building he had owned and had been able to reclaim had been there. Otherwise, he would have preferred to move someplace that was perpetually cool.

He gazed across the room without really seeing it. He was grateful to be in Los Angeles right now, which was something he had never thought he would feel. But if it were not for living in Los Angeles, he would not have met Coley, if the portal had still opened over Los Angeles. And right now, he felt he could even endure the horrible heat, now that he had made that dear friend.

Coley often said the unexpected, but he was everything Ray had needed and wanted—someone to talk with and listen with understanding and experience, someone truthful but not unkind, someone who helped Ray be a better person just by being there and being himself. In turn, Ray had also seen Coley begin to change, to soften and open up more as the days went by.

It made him relieved and happy that Coley had decided to stay. He just prayed that the choice would indeed be left to Coley, and not decided by forces of space and time out of their control.

He had nightmares about that sometimes, of waking up and finding that Coley was just _gone,_ forcibly sent back against his will. It made him angry and bitter on top of his worries.

So what if someone was here out of their time, he argued with himself late in the night. Why couldn't it be that it was meant to happen, as he had once mused to Coley? And why couldn't it be that they were meant to stay?

Or maybe Coley was right and there was no such thing as fate or destiny. But in that case, it seemed it could be true all the more that Coley would have control over where he lived and what he did with his life.

At least, that was what Ray would continue to hope.

xxxx

Despite the long day, and longer night, Arte was awake by morning. A thought had come to him in the night and he wanted to hurry and get it written down before it slipped away from him again.

Jim awoke to the scratching of a pencil on paper. He rolled over, squinting at Arte on the other bed. "Arte, what are you doing?" he mumbled.

"I was thinking, Jim," Arte said urgently without looking up. "Isn't it strange how everyone landed in a different part of the city? I mean, you'd think that we'd all come out of the portal at the same place, wouldn't you?"

"I guess so," Jim said. "What's your point, Arte?"

"My point is that maybe the portal is somehow over the entire city, and everyone was dropped out at various locations." Arte held up the piece of paper, on which he had sketched the skyline of Los Angeles with a large, circular hole above it.

Jim stared at it in disbelief. "The portal might be in the sky?"

Arte sighed, shaking his head. "Oh, I hope not. But I realized it really might be possible."

"What about all the airplanes that take off from the city every day?" Jim countered. "How would they miss falling into it? I'm sure we would have heard by now if airplanes were disappearing by the dozens."

"You're right," Arte acknowledged. "The portal _could_ be up so high that they'd miss it, but then I'd have to wonder how any of us survived coming out of it. But even if it's somewhere close to the ground, as we thought to begin with, why _did_ we all land in such vastly different parts of the city? Something really is odd somewhere."

"That goes without saying. It was odd that Dr. Faustina's machines malfunctioned and caused this to happen in the first place."

Arte nodded. "And I still wonder what the connection is with Los Angeles. It's still bothering me that the portal doesn't just come out in modern-day Justice."

"That _is _strange," Jim admitted. "But do you really think it's that important?"

Arte threw up his hands. "In a situation like this, who can say?"

"You've got a point there." Jim got up, shuffling to the window. It seemed too soon to be up, but he doubted he was going to go back to sleep. Arte certainly seemed wide-awake as well.

"Jim!"

Jim jumped a mile. "What is it, Arte?!" he demanded, spinning back around.

"I've got it!" Arte exclaimed in delight. "The portal isn't in the sky, but it's still where it's overlooking all of Los Angeles. It's on the highest mountain!"

Jim looked out the window in shock. The mountains loomed ahead of them, shielding the city like a fortress wall.

"Arte, you just might have it," he declared.

"Maybe Mr. Norman will drive us up there today to look," Arte said. "This is too important to wait for my license!"

Jim concurred. "If it is up there, though, Arte, do you still plan to get your license?"

"Why not?" Arte smiled. "We can't go through the portal until we round up Miss Posey and her board members, anyway."

Jim gave a thoughtful nod. "True."

"And I've already paid out the money for the classes," Arte went on. "I wouldn't want to waste it."

"Oh, of course not."

Arte checked the clock. "Do you think Mr. Norman would be awake yet?"

Jim looked at it too. "Considering the time he may have gone to bed, I doubt it. He seems to be used to sleeping in late if he goes to bed late."

Arte sighed in agreement, but cheered and quickly reached for a booklet on the nightstand. "Well, then I'll just spend some quality time with my study manual for the learner's permit test," he decided.

Jim smiled. "Have fun."

Already involved, Arte mumbled, "What?"

Amused, Jim leaned over. "I said, Have fun."

"Oh! I will." Arte looked through the possible questions and answers on the first page. "I most certainly will."

xxxx

_The electricity had been coming now and then in bursts, each lingering slightly longer than the one before it. Coley was always left gasping, agonized and suffering by what was being done to him. He was still stubborn; he would not break, but Pinto was certainly trying._

"_You know about how I was killed once." Pinto grinned down at Coley, chained and wired helplessly to a metal slab Pinto had found. "It was a right unpleasant experience, too."_

"_I don't imagine there's very many people who enjoy dying," Coley said flatly._

"_I doubt it." Pinto placed a foot on a chair and leaned on it, resting his forearm on his knee. "Coming back, though . . . that's really interesting._

"_You've never died, have you?"_

_The cold chill was back. Coley stared at him. "No," he said. "I've never died."_

"_Well." Pinto straightened. "I might just have to change that."_

"_Why?!" Coley shot back. "Why do you want to kill me?! I never did anything to you or got in your way. I always left you alone."_

"_It's nothing personal," Pinto shrugged. "It never is. But I can't bring you back if you're not dead first. See, I figure if I can get past dying, and bring people back as easy as waking them up from a swoon, I can torture them a lot longer. They wouldn't have anything to fall back on. No sweet death to come carry them away when it got too terrible."_

_Absolute terror struck Coley in the heart. Although normally he was perfectly calm even when upset, Pinto had stretched his nerves to the breaking point. "Are you out of your mind?!" He strained against the bonds. "You're not some crazy doc; you wouldn't have any idea what you'd be doing. Let me go!"_

"_Oh, I studied Dr. Faustina enough to know how she did it," Pinto told him. "The bringing back, that is. She never killed anybody first."_

_Coley clenched his fists. "And what if you can't bring me back after you kill me?"_

"_Oh well." Pinto reached for the switch. Pulling it, he held it down. The electricity slammed into Coley's body._

_Coley stared at him with wide, furious, and anguished eyes. Pinto would not let up until Coley fell unconscious . . . or worse. And as much as Coley wanted to yell, it would do no good to swear and curse and order him to stop. It would entertain Pinto all the more._

_Coley could not get out any tangible words anyway. He fought to stay silent; he hated that he had screamed in pain the last time Pinto had turned on the electricity. He wouldn't give Pinto the pleasure of hearing him scream again._

_He wouldn't. . . ._

_The electricity continued to charge through his body. It was almost impossible to focus on anything other than the pain. And despite his struggle to hold out, he was starting to lose the fight. He could not stay conscious much longer, not with the voltage as high as it was._

_He did not want to die. Very few people truly did. And he did not want to serve as Pinto's sadistic experiment, either._

"_**Help me. I probably don't deserve it, but please. Help me!"**_

_That was the last thing he thought and knew before the electricity swept away every one of his senses._

_Pinto let the electricity flow another moment before shutting it off. Sparks sizzled and snapped from Coley's motionless body and the chains holding him in place. One of the chains, old and rusted, came unlocked. His right arm, limp and lifeless, slipped down and hung over the side of the slab._

_Pinto smirked as he strolled over. "That gotcha, didn't it? Well, don't worry; I'll have you back in a few minutes." He leaned over the form, not wanting to get too close and be hit with the still-sparking volts, but endeavoring to check for life._

_Without warning Coley's eyes flew open and he reached with his free hand, forcefully shoving Pinto back. "Get away from me!" he screamed._

_Not having expected a movement at all, let alone such a fierce one, Pinto swayed and tripped, crashing to the floor with several old pieces of metal._

_Coley sat up, pulling hard and in desperation at the chain on his left wrist. It held fast, but undaunted, he struggled even as he saw Pinto getting up to come back at him again. Panicked and angry, Coley knocked both himself and the slab to the floor._

"_Now, you shouldn't get all worked up like that," Pinto said as he got to his feet. "It's bad for you, especially after what you've just been put through."_

"_Shut up," Coley snarled. His free hand shaking, he finally located a fallen piece of wire and grabbed it, frantically trying to pick the old chain's lock. When it came open, he tried again with the ones around his legs._

"_I've gotta say, I wasn't expecting you'd make it out of that one. You're a stubborn man." Pinto grabbed the edge of the slab and started to haul it upright, Coley and all._

_With one leg free, Coley kicked him hard in the chest. Pinto made a strange gurgling, gasping choke as he fell back, clutching the spot. Coley had caught him right where he had been fatally wounded in the past._

_Not wasting any more time, Coley fought with the manacle on his other leg and finally pulled free. Letting the wire drop to the floor, he rolled off the tipped slab and tried with all his strength to get to his feet. Dizziness swept over him, nearly sending him to the floor again. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stand._

_He wasn't sure himself how he had survived that blast, let alone to have enough adrenaline to do what he had just done. But somehow, someway, he was going to get out of here __**now, tonight.**_

_He glanced in Pinto's direction. Apparently he had struck his head in that last topple; the sadist had slipped to the floor, lying atop some shelves, an old beam, and more of his own equipment. He was clearly breathing, but not moving._

_Relieved that he would not be pursued further, Coley limped away and towards the nearest exit._

"Coley? Coley, are you alright?"

Coley leaped a mile as he was pulled out of the dream-memory. For some time he had slept without dreaming at all, but then _that_ had crept up on him. It figured that he would have to dream about that last torment from Pinto as well as some of the earlier ones.

He turned his head towards the voice, tiredly squinting up at a worried Ray. "What is it?" he mumbled.

"You're hanging half-off the bed!" Ray exclaimed.

"Eh?!" Coley woke up more and rose to look. Ray was right; he had one leg over the edge and could very easily slip off the rest of the way. His upper body and his pillow were dangerously close to the edge too.

Muttering, he pushed himself farther back. "_Please _tell me I didn't scream _again,_" he growled.

"You didn't," Ray assured him. "No, I was just coming to check on you. Mr. Gordon has some important news."

"Yeah? What's that?" Coley sat up.

"He thinks he knows where the portal is." Ray crossed to the window and pointed outside. "On that mountain peak. He and Mr. West want me to drive them up there today. I said I could, but that it wouldn't be as simple as that. There's some problems we need to discuss first. And I wondered if you'd want to be along for the discussion and maybe the ride."

From the inflection in his voice, it was more that he _hoped_ Coley would like to come along. And Coley was agreeable to it. Even though he did not want to go back through the portal, he rather wanted to be along when it was found. It was a momentous occasion.

"Yeah, I'll come," he said. "But what about that job?"

"I guess that depends on what we do. But it could wait for today," Ray added. "If that's alright with you, I mean. I . . . well, I kind of thought I should warn my current chief of security instead of just booting him out. And maybe you won't even like the position. I wondered if we should have a trial period for you to decide whether you like it."

Coley shrugged. "That's fine with me."

Ray smiled in relief. "Good.

"Well, if you want to get up now, Mr. Gordon thought we could all have breakfast while we talked."

Coley nodded, throwing back the covers. "Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll do that." Ray turned and headed for the door, but paused. "Oh . . . Coley?" Coley glanced over. "You are . . . alright, aren't you? I mean, you were distressed before you went to bed. And then I come in and find you almost falling off the bed, not looking very peaceful. . . ."

"I'm fine." Coley stumbled out of bed, still a bit wobbly from the dream and from the sleep. "But sometimes it amazes me how I ever got away from Pinto, let alone how I managed to get all the way over to you. Taking in all the logic, I shouldn't have been able to do that."

Ray shuddered, remembering the details Coley had told him in his delirious state that first night. "It amazes me, too," he said quietly. "But I'll always be grateful for whatever—or Whoever—gave you the strength."

Coley paused. Oddly enough, he _did_ remember praying in sheer, panicked desperation right before the electricity took his consciousness. But it had been an act of reflex, he thought, or perhaps a holdover from his childhood.

He had recently come across a saying in reference to soldiers in war: _There are no atheists in foxholes._ And he supposed it had equally applied to his own terror over dying right then. Not that he had ever been an atheist, per se, but he had certainly never wanted to believe as much as he had right at that moment.

Entirely aside from that, he had not really thought that God would help someone such as he. That was what Ray had been made to believe about himself, too, now that he thought of it. Neither of them had felt worthy to even ask for such help, after all the wrongs they had done.

He remembered expressing his disbelief over receiving divine help when Arte had mentioned all the prayers for his recovery. Arte had told him that if he, a fellow human seeing Coley's faults, could care about him, God would care much more.

But to give him the protection and strength to stay alive, get away from Pinto, _and_ find Ray? Or even simply to assist him by adding strength to his own will? It boggled his mind.

"Yeah," he said at last to Ray. "Well, like I said, I'll be out in a few minutes."

Ray nodded. "I'll see you at breakfast," he said as he headed into the hall.

xxxx

Breakfast was delicious, as always. And through the window, the sun shone in on the white tablecloth. It was a perfect, albeit chilly late fall day.

"Alright, Mr. Norman," Arte said, as he poured syrup onto his pancakes, "you mentioned that getting up the mountain won't be as easy as we hoped."

"Yes," Ray frowned. "As I told you, the paved road doesn't go up all the way. You'll have to do some hiking if you think the portal might be at the summit. There are several trails, and all of them are difficult routes for at least some parts. At least one of the trails is known for being especially strenuous. And I'm afraid I'm not much of a hiker. Even if I could make it up there, I'd slow you down."

Coley grunted. He did not feel like hiking yet, which Ray already knew. When he was completely healed it would not be a problem, but right now he was in no condition for a steep journey.

"We've gone up steep mountains before," Jim deadpanned.

"You can use the ski lift to take a lot of time off of the hike," Ray said. "But I'm afraid it isn't free."

Arte sighed. "Not much is free around here," he said. "Except boarding at your club. When we're ready to go back to our time, we insist on paying you for your troubles."

"It's no trouble at all," Ray insisted. "I like having you here. And no one uses the employees' quarters anyway, so it's not like I'm losing money by you being there."

Jim nodded. "We'll discuss the money later. Back to the problem of the hike." He gave Ray an expectant look.

Ray sighed. "Another thing is, all of the trails take quite a few hours to traverse."

"I know that," Arte said. "I went on the Internet looking for information and I found a place where a hiker described some of the trails. For a round trip, one trail took him over eleven hours!"

Ray cringed. "That would be a long time for Coley and I to wait for you."

Arte nodded. "We wanted to see right away if the portal was up there," he said, "but it sounds more like it might be more practical to wait for me to get my driver's license. Then I could drive Jim and I up there. And if you wanted to come along, Rodman, you'd have a few more weeks to heal first."

"Yeah." Coley stabbed a pancake, pondering on the problem. "I wouldn't have to come along," he said at last. "But if you didn't want to wait for your license, you'd have trouble getting up there if Norman didn't drive you. And then he'd be waiting by himself if I didn't come."

"It would be dull, wouldn't it," Arte said.

Ray nodded. "Not to mention I'd have a lot of work I wouldn't be able to get done. I wouldn't mind pushing it aside if I was helping, but if I had to sit and wait, I just don't think I could afford that much time doing nothing.

"I've been trying to find out information on fire roads," he continued in frustration, "but I can't learn if any of them go anywhere near the summit. Even if they did, my car probably wouldn't cut it. We'd likely need something better suited to all types of terrain."

"Here's something to think about," Jim spoke. "When Arte was looking up information on the mountain, it said that it's very popular with hikers. There's almost always someone going up there. Now, if something strange like a portal to the past was really at the summit, don't you think at least _one_ of those hikers would have found it?"

"I would think so, yes." Ray reached for his glass of milk. "And there's been no reports of missing hikers, according to the news."

"Do you possibly know anyone who might be going to hike up the mountain any time soon?" Arte asked hopefully. "If you trusted them enough, perhaps you could ask them to look for anything unusual and snap a picture of it."

Ray shook his head. "I know a few hikers, but no one I would really trust with something like that." He hesitated. "I wonder if we could hire Paul Drake for the job."

"Who's Paul Drake?" Arte blinked.

"Perry Mason's private detective," Ray explained. "He knows the truth about all of you too, since he looked up the information for Mr. Mason."

Arte slowly nodded. "I see. And you would trust this Mr. Drake with the assignment to look for the portal?"

"Yes, I think I would. He's very determined to do right by his clients and knows how to keep a confidence. He's very honest and ethical."

Arte looked to Jim. "What do you say, Jim?"

Jim was already considering the problem. "I'd like to meet him first," he said then. "But if he's as Mr. Norman says, maybe hiring him to have a look is the best possible thing to do right now."

"That's what I'm thinking too," Arte said with a smile.

Coley nodded. "I trust your judgment," he said to Ray, "but it would still be good to meet him first and see how open-minded he might be."

"I'll call him right after breakfast," Ray determined.

Jim leaned back, thoughtful. He was still not sure the portal was at the top of Mount San Antonio, but to even have a specific location in mind to check was getting somewhere.

Hopefully Paul Drake would have some luck.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes: The Wal-Mart visit was originally slated to happen along with Arte's first driving lesson, but it makes more sense here.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Paul Drake was surprised when he received a call from Ray Norman that morning. And he was even more surprised by the request to come out to the Oak Bridge Golf Club for a private conference as a precursor to possibly being hired for a job. He headed out as soon as he could.

Perry had said nothing more about Ray's _unusual_ guests since he had come back seeming mostly pacified concerning their motives. And Paul had not asked, knowing that Perry would bring it up again if he felt it necessary.

Paul had other things on his mind lately, he had to admit—most especially the mysterious woman Lucille from the Play It Again, Sam Club. He had not heard back from her, and considering the story she had told, he was a bit concerned. He had returned to the club, looking for her as well as Florence, but to no avail.

The golf club certainly seemed to be doing well, business-wise, he thought as he maneuvered around the winding ramp and looked at the full parking lot. He managed to find a spot not _too_ far away from the entrance and started towards the main doors.

He stopped short when he stepped inside and caught sight of a tall man with a dark hat, leaning on the marble receptionist's counter. He was idly petting a silver cat, but he glanced up as Paul entered.

"Are you Paul Drake?" he asked.

"I am," Paul said, keeping his voice cool. "And you're Coley Rodman?"

"That's right." Coley straightened. "Norman wants to talk with you in his office. I'll take you there."

Paul frowned. "Something about your voice sounds familiar," he said. "Have we met somewhere before?"

"I don't think so." Coley left the counter and started down the hall.

Paul hurried after him. "You remind me of someone I saw from a distance the other day," he said. "He lassoed some guy on the street."

"I don't have a lasso. You probably saw Little Pinto."

"Who?!"

"Nevermind. That's not important." Coley came to a half-open door and pushed it open the right of the way as he stepped inside.

Paul chased after him. "Actually, I think it's very important," he countered. "I don't like the thought of working around criminals at all, especially if I've seen them going after people."

"You _didn't_ see _me,_ Drake." Coley was irritable now. "Little Pinto happens to look like me. Why don't you look him up in your database and you'll see."

"I'll do that," Paul said. "But where's Mr. Norman? I don't see him in here."

"He's around." Coley walked back to the door. "Stay here and wait and I'll get him."

Paul was not entirely happy with that proposition, but he stayed and waited.

Once Coley left, Paul wandered to the shelves to examine Ray's golfing trophies. Ray really was good at the game, judging from all of those. It was a shame he had ever decided to go bad. But no one regretted it more than Ray himself.

"Mr. Drake? I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Paul looked over as Ray hurried into the office, followed by the Secret Service agents and Coley, who shut the door behind them.

"That's alright, Mr. Norman," Paul told him. "I'd just like to know what's going on around here." He glanced at Coley. "Your . . . friend here looks like someone I saw terrorizing someone else a few days ago."

"That would have to be Pinto," Ray replied. "Coley was here a few days ago. And he hasn't terrorized anyone."

Paul sighed. "Okay, that's what Rodman says too."

"It's true, Mr. Drake," Arte spoke up. "We can vouch for him too."

"That won't be necessary," Paul said, waving his hands. "But thanks."

"Oh, I should do the official introductions," Ray realized. "This is Mr. West and Mr. Gordon. You've already met Coley."

Paul nodded. "I recognize everyone from the pictures I found. It's good to meet you." This he said mostly to Jim and Arte, as he shook their hands. They expressed pleasantries in return.

Ray crossed to the desk. "Have you done much hiking lately, Mr. Drake?"

Paul blinked in utter surprise. "I try to keep in shape," he said. "But I do most of my hiking in the city."

Ray smirked a bit at the reply but then sobered. "Have you ever climbed Mt. San Antonio?"

"Mt. Baldy? Nope, I don't think so. That's something I've never got around to doing." Paul regarded him in disbelief. "What is this? Am I being hired to go hiking up there?"

"To find a portal," Arte interjected awkwardly. "We started thinking it might be on top of Mt. San Antonio and we were hoping to check."

Ray nodded. "I could drive Mr. West and Mr. Gordon up there, but I'm not much of a hiker and it would be better for me to wait for them. And that could be a long wait. I'm afraid I just don't have the time to spare."

Jim stepped forward. "So we thought you could either go up alone and look for it, or Mr. Gordon and I could go with you."

Paul considered it. "I guess I could go for that," he said. "But either way, I'd have to plan on a full day of hiking, based on what I've heard about hiking that beast. It might already be too late to start today."

"We understand," said Jim.

"We could be ready to leave bright and early tomorrow," Arte suggested.

"I might have a better idea," Paul came back. "And it's not that I'm in the habit of turning down jobs, but I wonder if what might work best for all of you is hiring a helicopter. You could all go along and have the pilot drop you at the summit of the mountain to look around. Then, just get back into the helicopter when you're ready to leave. It would cut out all the hours of hiking up there and back."

"A helicopter," Arte mused. "I like that."

Ray looked hesitant. "I like the idea, Mr. Drake, but isn't chartering a helicopter very expensive?"

Paul sighed. "Well, I know a guy who could give you a discount. Maybe if each of you could contribute something, you could afford enough to pay at his reduced price."

Ray exchanged looks with his time-traveling friends. "That's a possibility," he said slowly. "Maybe. I'm afraid we'd still have to know how much money we'd be talking about, Mr. Drake."

Paul nodded. "I can call him up and ask him," he offered. "But what would you want me to tell him about why you're going up there? I'm guessing you wouldn't want any hint of the truth."

"No, not at all," Arte declared. "Perhaps you could just say that we're . . . looking for something that we think we might have lost up there? And that we'd like to search for it without having to take the time to hike all that way? You wouldn't have to mention that we were never up there before."

"I might be able to work that out," Paul said. "He's done some jobs for me before without asking too many questions." He reached for the phone. "I'll see what he says."

"Thank you," Ray said, hoping desperately that this was something they could actually try. "Of course, we'd still pay you for your trouble in coming out here and setting this up."

Paul glanced to him. "Let's talk about that _after_ we find out what he says," he replied.

"That's fair enough." Coley leaned against the wall with crossed arms as he observed Paul. Now that he had determined that Paul truly did want to do what he could to help them, he was starting to relax—albeit he remained alert. When something pawed at the door, he perked up and straightened.

"What's that?!" Paul exclaimed.

"Probably the cat," Coley told him. He opened the door and the silver Persian slipped in through the crack, meowing accusingly over the closed door.

"Don't be like that," Coley grunted. "I didn't shut the door because of you."

Ray looked down, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

The cat merowed, falling heavily against Coley's legs.

Paul shook his head as the phone rang. What a crew.

But he had to admit—Coley did not seem to be much of a concern when he was the type of person who talked to a cat. Perhaps Perry was right in leaving him alone, despite whatever suspicions he might still carry.

xxxx

To Ray's relief and encouragement, Paul's friend agreed to take them to Mt. San Antonio and drop them off at the summit. They could stay as long as they wanted while it was daytime, and radioing him when they were done would bring him back to them quickly. And, since the only walking would be on top of the mountain, they could leave that day.

The price he asked for was reasonable, too. Ray, Coley, Jim, and Arte were all quite sure that they could easily chip in and come up with the amount—although Coley had still not translated any of the coins with him into modern-day cash.

Ray still had the coin that Coley had given him on that first, delirious night. He had considered selling it for supplies to help tend to Coley, but when that had not been necessary he had just held onto it. It was no doubt worth a great deal monetarily, as Coley had told him, but it was worth even more to Ray personally. If Coley was not allowed to stay and instead forced back to his time, the coin would be the only physical object Ray would have to remember him by.

Well, almost, anyway. He would never be able to look at Jane without thinking of Coley. But Jane was not his, whereas the coin was.

Ray frowned. He hated to think about Coley being sent back, even though it was impossible to avoid the topic altogether. As he watched Coley now, planning the route with Jim and Arte and trying to keep Jane from stepping on the map to get attention, he felt both sad and amused.

_I don't want these times to end,_ he said to himself. _Mr. West and Mr. Gordon will surely have to go back, but Coley shouldn't have to. He belongs here now and he wants to stay._

It was enjoyable to be with all of them, but even though Ray felt that they were all friends, of course he felt the closest to Coley. He had hoped that they would be able to stay there and work together at the club. He still hoped it. But now that the search for the portal was very real and Coley would be involved, it brought Ray's concerns to the forefront of his mind.

"Oh, there's something else you should keep in mind," Paul was saying now.

Everyone looked up. "What's that?" Arte queried.

"Mt. Baldy is probably already covered with snow," Paul said. "You'll need to dress appropriately for that."

They exchanged uncomfortable looks. "I don't suppose you have any spare winter wear around here, do you?" Arte said to Ray.

"I'm afraid not," Ray said. "There isn't much need for it here."

He glanced at the clock. "You said your man would have the helicopter ready around two, didn't you, Mr. Drake?"

"That's right," Paul nodded.

"Then we might have time to pick something up at Wal-Mart first," Ray mused.

Coley raised an eyebrow. "What's a Wal-Mart?"

Ray smiled a bit. "Probably the biggest general store you or Mr. West or Mr. Gordon has ever seen."

"That sounds promising," Arte declared.

Paul grinned. "Well, I'll leave you to your expeditions. Good luck!" He waved and turned to head for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Drake," Ray called after him. Paul turned back. "Thank you."

Paul nodded. "Sure. I just hope it all works out for you."

"So do we, Mr. Drake," Arte said. "So do we."

xxxx

Wal-Mart was indeed the largest store of _any_ kind that the time-travelers had ever seen. When Ray pulled into the parking lot and everyone got out of the car, they could only stop and stare.

"All of _that_ is one store?" Coley exclaimed.

Ray chuckled. "That's right. And it's even more impressive inside."

"Then let's get inside, Mr. Norman!" Arte said with a big smile.

The quartet walked through the parking lot and up to the automatic doors. After selecting a cart, Ray led them past the lobby and into the brightly lit store.

"Amazing," Arte breathed. "And Jim, look at the sheer number of registers and clerks!"

"There's even more than at that bookstore," Jim observed.

"I could lose a bigger fortune in here than I could in a casino," Arte said.

Coley smirked. "I didn't even know you were a gambler, Gordon."

Arte shrugged. "Well . . . from time to time it's an enjoyable way to spend an evening. As long as I know when to quit."

"Which would be once you have two or more impressed ladies on your arm," Jim deadpanned.

Arte smiled. "Right!"

Ray started heading towards the clothing department and the others followed. "I don't know how much they'll have available," he said over his shoulder, "but hopefully there'll be enough styles and sizes that we can each find something suitable."

"It looks like an amazing selection to me," Arte declared, staring at the various coats and jackets. "Although I'm not sure what to make of some of these modern styles." He eyed a leather coat with some amount of trepidation.

Coley took it down and examined it more closely. "I could get used to this," he said.

Jim had discovered the novelty shirts. He raised an eyebrow at some of the more unusual designs, particularly a skull on one and a yellow sponge with eyes on another. "People have . . . _interesting_ tastes in this time," he commented as he came back to the coats.

"That's one way of putting it," Ray said with a half-smile.

Eventually they each settled on some things they liked in both the coat and boot departments. Arte wandered to the edge of the carpet and peered into the nearest aisle. "How long do we have until we need to meet the helicopter?" he asked.

Ray checked his watch. "We should leave within a half hour to make sure we have enough time to get there," he said. He smiled a bit. "You can explore until then."

Arte's eyes lit up. "I could spend all day in a place like this," he said. "We'll make the thirty minutes count."

"I think you'd particularly like the electronics department," Ray said. "And the books are right by it."

"Excellent!" Arte stepped into the aisle. "Er . . . which way?"

"Turn left," Ray told him. "And you'd probably also like housewares."

"Devices to make home living more manageable?" Arte nodded. "I most definitely would!"

Neither Coley nor Jim was sure what department seemed the most interesting, so they wandered about the store in all directions. Jim was starting to see the yellow sponge everywhere, much to his bewilderment.

"What is it about this thing?" he finally asked Ray after seeing a shower curtain and a placemat featuring the character.

"Oh . . . that." Ray looked amused. "It's some children's television show, but it's developed a following among adults too."

"And it's about a talking sponge," Jim said in disbelief.

Ray nodded. "And other unusual creatures too," he said.

Arte, who had arrived after playing in the electronics department, was now having far too much fun investigating a waffle machine to pay attention to a conversation about talking sponges. "Look at this, Jim!" he said. "You can make four waffles at a time with this!"

"Interesting," Jim said. "Then you could burn four at once instead of just one."

"Bah!" Arte waved a hand at him. "My specialty is gourmet, not the common household waffle."

Jim shrugged. "Make a gourmet waffle."

"An intriguing idea," Arte smiled a Cheshire cat smile. "Maybe I shall plan and plot for that." Suddenly realizing something, he looked around and blinked. "Say, where did Rodman go?"

"I think he might have headed for the sporting department," Ray said.

Arte nodded. "That figures. He must be curious about today's weaponry."

"And he should really have a modern gun if he decides to take the job as chief of security," Ray said. "That's something I haven't thought much about."

"He probably has," said Jim.

Coley met them in the middle of the aisle somewhere between the sporting section and the toys. "They have some useful stuff here," he remarked.

"Indeed they do," Arte nodded. "And we've barely even made a dent in seeing most of it!"

Without warning a weird, squishy ball bounced off Coley's hat, displacing it. "What the . . ." He grabbed for his hat, glowering at the flying ball. "What _is_ that thing?!"

Arte picked it up and turned it around in his hand. "It looks like a very odd cross between a child's toy and a sea urchin."

Jim poked one of the strange, floppy tentacles that covered the ball in every direction. "It doesn't seem like it would bounce well," he said. "Or roll."

"That's a new one on me, too," Ray said, shaking his head. "Sometimes the kids at the club bring similar-looking balls, but they're still nothing like this."

"Sorry, Misters!"

The group looked up as a small boy hurried over to them. "Is this yours?" Arte asked, holding it out.

The kid nodded. "Yup!" But as he took it, his eyes shifted guiltily. "Well . . . it will be if Mommy buys it for me."

Arte smiled. "Are you a good boy?"

Again a nod. ". . . Most of the time, anyway," the kid replied slowly.

"That's all a mother can ask for," Arte said. "I'm sure she'll let you have it. But say, if you don't mind letting us in on a secret . . . why does it look like this?"

The kid shrugged. "I don't know, but it's cool." He glanced down an aisle. "Ooops, gotta go! See you, Misters!" He rushed off with a backwards wave.

Arte chuckled. "Now there's a nice boy. Completely unlike that General's son we had to rescue that time. Remember, James?"

"I usually try to forget," Jim replied.

Coley was amused. "What was so bad about him?"

"It's more like what _wasn't _bad about him!" Arte said, shaking his head. "He was the true definition of a holy terror. The kidnappers actually _begged_ us to take him back. And then he was rambunctious all the way back to his father."

Coley laughed. "I wouldn't mind meeting a Cain raiser like that. Although I can't decide whether I'd get a kick out of watching him or if I'd turn him over my knee."

"Ohh, I don't think you'd get a charge out of it if he started disrupting _your_ life," Arte said. "Or the golf club."

"You're probably right about that," Coley conceded. "I don't mind a kid with spirit, but I don't want one disrespecting me either. Or the place where I live and work."

"And boy, he was great at disrespecting everything and everyone," said Arte with a shake of his head. "He still gives me nightmares sometimes."

"It sounds like a nightmare, alright," Ray said with a shudder.

Arte looked to him. "Tell me, Mr. Norman, do you ever have problems like that at your club?"

"Some of the guests' children have been known to be rowdy or hyperactive, yes," Ray sighed. "I'm afraid that's something you can't get away from wherever you go."

"Unless you just don't allow kids to get in," Coley said.

"It's a popular stop for a lot of the rich and famous families," Ray said. "I'd lose a lot of business if I didn't allow them in, so unfortunately, I can't afford that."

"I bet Jane doesn't like it," Coley noted.

"She doesn't. She hides in my office, or in Mrs. Featherstone's cabin, when wild kids are afoot." Ray paused. "However, when we get well-behaved children, she'll come out to get attention from them. The kids love that there's a cat around."

"And she loves the attention," Arte remarked. "A true prima donna.

"Say, is there a pet department in here?"

Ray nodded. "There is. But Mrs. Featherstone buys really expensive toys for her from some mail-order catalog. It's unusual not to see a package arrive at least once a week."

"That cat is seriously pampered," Arte said. "And she gets the run of the main building, too."

By now they were nearing the pet department. Coley paused to stare at a picture of a cat tree on a box. "Does she have one of these things?"

"One that has more levels than that," Ray said.

"And they call this kind of thing pet furniture," Coley stated after reading a nearby display card. "Weird. Anyway, cats like climbing the human furniture just fine. I doubt buying these things stops them from doing that."

Ray laughed. "I've even seen Jane climb onto the top of an open door."

"I can believe it," Arte said.

Jim shrugged. "She probably saw it as a challenge to conquer."

As they reached the food department, Arte gazed in amazement at the huge, closed fridges housing milk and the open fridges housing butter and yogurt. "What a wonderful place," he declared. "It was incredible enough to see the refrigeration system at the club, but _this . . ._" He gestured widely. "This is something else altogether!"

Ray smiled. "I don't need to buy food, since that's always taken care of, but I thought you'd like looking here on our way out."

Arte sighed. "Oh, the thirty minutes are almost up?"

Ray nodded. "I'm afraid so. Actually, I think we've gone over the time. We'll have to hurry to make it to the airfield by two."

Coley took the cart and moved out ahead of him, hastening towards the registers. Finding the one with the smallest crowd, he stood in line and waited. The others soon caught up.

"You're really getting ready for winter," the pretty young clerk commented.

"Yes, well, we like to be prepared for anything," Arte said grandly.

Ray glanced at Coley, again wondering just how prepared he was for what might happen when they reached their destination—and if they found the portal.

Coley glanced back. "What is it?" he asked.

But Ray shook his head. "Nevermind," he said. He did not want to discuss it here.

Coley understood. He fell silent as they finished their business at the check-out stand, smiling at the clerk on his way out.

xxxx

Arte was positively entranced by the helicopter and the ride. It was all he could do to keep from vocally expressing his awe and alerting the pilot that something was unusual about them. He settled for gazing out the window at the fascinating sights both above and below. Gently amused, and admittedly intrigued as well, Jim took everything in without a word.

All too soon the pilot announced, "Okay, we're coming up on Mt. San Antonio. I'll lower the copter enough so you can start going down the rope ladder."

"Mr. Drake was right about the snow," Arte remarked, staring at the white mountaintop.

"And that's an understatement," Ray added. "It looks deep."

Jim opened the door and pushed the rope ladder through it. He was the first to descend, followed closely by Coley. Arte and Ray trailed after them.

They landed in the drifts and began to spread out in pairs, wanting to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall in a couple of hours.

"I have the feeling that the hikers coming up today won't like our entrance," Jim mused. "They'll think we're cheating."

"Well, we'll just have to set them straight," Arte said firmly. "But we don't have time for any large-scale fights."

"I know." Jim walked ahead, studying a rock formation for any sign of something strange.

Ray and Coley had gone in the opposite direction. "You looked worried about something in the store," Coley said. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

Ray sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'm just wondering how the portal will react if it's here and someone gets too close to it," he said.

"You think it'll pull him in," Coley deduced.

"It's a possibility," Ray admitted. "And maybe he wouldn't be able to get back out again."

"We'll just have to wait and see," Coley said. "And be careful."

But for more than an hour as they roamed the summit, it seemed that the theory of the portal's existence there was nothing more than that. When everyone regrouped around four, none had had a smidgen of luck.

"Well, so much for that brilliant idea," Arte sighed. "Now what? It's going to be getting dark soon."

"Let's try looking for a while longer," Jim replied. "We could have overlooked something."

Coley bent and gathered a bit of snow in his hands, forming it into a ball before randomly throwing it into the distance.

"Say, that's not a bad idea," Arte mused.

Coley gave him a funny look. "Throwing snow?"

"The portal might be invisible," Arte explained. "If the snowball disappears, we've found the portal!"

"I guess that makes sense," Coley shrugged.

Soon all of them were pitching snowballs in assorted directions. Some hikers just arriving at the top stared.

"I feel ridiculous," Ray exclaimed. "If we were having a snowball fight, it would make more sense than this."

Coley smirked. "Oh well." He gave one more, half-hearted toss.

The snowball struck something in the air and headed back towards him.

Both Coley and Ray dove for cover. "What _was_ that?!" Coley burst out. "If that was the portal, the snowball should have disappeared!"

Jim and Arte turned to look. "What happened?" Arte asked.

"The snowball hit something and came back at me," Coley sputtered.

Arte immediately grabbed some snow. "Where was that?"

"Right over there," Coley pointed.

Arte threw his snowball. As it struck, sparks of energy crackled and caught it, propelling it away again.

"I don't believe it," Arte gasped. "That must be the portal; there's surely no other explanation. And something is very, very wrong. It's apparently sealed!"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Arte was very somber and grim during the class that night. Observing his mood, both Lucrece and Pinto were consternated. When class let out, they moved to corner Arte outside. He, having the same idea of talking with them, went willingly.

"Why are you so long in the mouth?" Pinto asked, leaning with one hand on the wall as he had the previous night. "Did something happen that we ought to know about?"

Arte sighed. "I suppose so, really." He looked from Pinto to Lucrece. "We found the portal today. Or at least, we're quite sure it must be the portal."

"How could you not be sure?" Lucrece asked with a frown. "Wouldn't it be obvious?"

Arte ran his hand through his hair. "I imagine it would be, except for one slight problem. It's sealed."

Lucrece and Pinto exchanged a stunned glance.

"You mean nothing can go in or out?" Lucrece demanded.

"That's right." Arte straightened, looking her square in the eye. "And until I figure out why, and how to fix it, we're all stuck here."

Lucrece shrugged. "We were really starting to put down our roots here, anyway."

Arte frowned. "We can't possibly allow you to stay here if we _do_ get the portal opened," he said. "You realize that, I hope."

"We realize that you'll try to stop us," Lucrece replied.

Arte returned, "Well, what kind of government agents would we be if we let dangerous criminals live free in any era? Particularly if they came with us from our own era and we're responsible for them!"

"You seemed pretty chummy with Rodman last night," Pinto said.

"Yes, but he's not planning any new crimes," Arte retorted. "And I simply can't believe the same holds true for you. The thought of building your criminal empire would be much too tempting in a world where organized crime has already taken hold."

"They still haven't quite caught my vision," said Lucrece. "There are many rival criminal cartels throughout the world. My idea is for all criminals to eventually work as part of the same organization."

Arte shook his head. "That, I am happy to say, will never happen. There's too much suspicion and distrust and pride among criminals to ever imagine they could _all_ work together, every one. You've even had trouble with your own board members."

"They've learned to behave," Lucrece said curtly. "Without, I might add, any thanks due to you. But we're not here to discuss organized crime.

"Where is the portal?"

"On top of Mt. San Antonio," Arte sighed. "We marked its location in a subtle way that the hikers hopefully won't discover. Apparently they haven't found the portal so far."

"We should have a look at it ourselves," Lucrece mused.

"I suppose, if you want," Arte said in resignation. "But it's a steep climb and there's a lot of snow and ice. And I don't recall that any of you are scientists or that you even have any sort of interest in science. How would you even begin to figure out what's wrong with it?"

Pinto shrugged. "I guess in some ways, you could say I'm a self-taught scientist," he leered.

Arte regarded him in disgust. "Only where it comes to pain, Pinto."

"Sure," Pinto said, "but did you ever stop to think about how many topics that covers? Biology, psychology, geology, the weather. . . ."

"You know, I don't think I _want_ to think about it," Arte said, already feeling squeamish. "Alright, so the point is, you think you know some science."

"And I'd like to take a look at the sealed portal," Pinto nodded.

"Good luck," Arte retorted. "It's invisible." He started to walk off, then paused. "Oh, and if you go up there when the hikers are out, _please_ try not to draw attention to yourselves or to the portal."

"You don't need to tell us that, Mr. Gordon," Lucrece said smoothly. "We don't want to stand out any more than you do."

Arte finally nodded. "Well, alright then. There's nothing I can really do to stop you, so instead . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope you have some good luck."

"How neighborly," Pinto smirked.

"Yes, isn't it," Arte quipped. "Actually, my motives are really quite selfish. I just want to see that portal get open, no matter who has to actually open it. James and I are so eager to be on our way and have all of you wrapped up ready for the police."

Pinto shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, we wouldn't mind sendin' you and West on your way. Can't say we'd be willing to have that other happen."

Lucrece smirked.

"No, I can't imagine you would," Arte said. "But at least, since I told you about the portal, you'll let us know if you manage to open it, won't you?"

"Maybe," Pinto drawled. "Or maybe you'd just have to get back up there and see for yourself."

"Oh, I intend to get back up there anyway, to work on it," Arte said.

"Maybe we'll meet each other there, then," Pinto said lazily. "Oh, say, are you planning to try to figure out where we're holed up again?"

"The thought _had_ crossed my mind," said Arte. "But I suppose you'll do your best to thwart me again."

"I'm sure you wouldn't expect anything else, Mr. Gordon," Lucrece spoke.

Arte nodded. "I really wouldn't. You realize, though, it would be so much easier for all of us if you'd just tell me. Then you wouldn't have to go far out of your way before being able to get home."

"It's no trouble," Pinto said. "It's a good way to see the town."

"Then I suppose we should get on with our little game of cat-and-mouse," said Arte. This time, however, he planned to call a different cab company, in the hopes of getting a separate vehicle.

"We should, before it gets any later," said Lucrece. "We'll want to have a board meeting when we get home." She was also planning to call a different cab company.

As they went their separate ways to place their phone calls, none of them noticed a figure in the shadows, watching them.

Snakes smirked to himself. On a whim he had decided to sweep the entire area near the Oak Bridge Golf Club, and quite by accident he had stumbled across these three in time to hear some of their conversation.

So, the portal had been found. He had not heard where it was, but he had caught that something was wrong with it. That was not good; he had not even tried setting explosives and already it was closed. He would have to figure out how to open it before he could even continue his plans for getting all of his enemies on one side of it while he remained on the other. And first of all, he would have to find out where the thing was. That would require following either Lucrece and Pinto or Arte.

But he would do whatever he had to. His desire for self-preservation was strong.

Taking out the cellphone Florence had given him, he called for a cab of his own.

xxxx

Again the others were gathered in the library, reclining and waiting for Arte's arrival. Ray, typing away on his laptop as he caught up with the day's work, glanced over now and then at Coley and Jim.

Coley, stretched out on his back on the couch, was taking a drink now and then from a bottle and allowing Jane to partially lie on his chest. He drew the line at allowing Jane to lick the top of the bottle.

Jim was going through the books in both the physics and the science-fiction section, hoping to find some clue as to what might be wrong with the portal. He looked up at Coley's voice.

"You wouldn't like this," he said to the persistent Jane. "_I_ wouldn't like it if you put your tongue on it. And I'm sure Mrs. Featherstone wouldn't like it if you showed up acting funny from drinking it."

Jane merowed but settled down, content just to be with him.

Ray looked down, trying and failing to hide an amused chuckle.

"That cat really does seem to understand you," Jim noted.

"Animals are smart," Coley said. "Or some of them are, anyway. That horse I left back on your train was pretty stupid."

"Maybe _he_ just needed some understanding," Jim returned.

Horses were probably his favorite animals. He missed his own steed deeply and wondered what was happening to him. Hopefully Tennyson would have gone into town and collected him to keep on the train. And regardless, he had been there for the explosion outside Justice and probably believed Jim was dead.

Jim hated to think about that. He was the only one the horse had ever truly bonded with. What was the animal making of everything now? He must be so confused and upset.

"If you want to play horse whisperer with that horse of mine when you go back, feel free."

Jim raised an eyebrow at Coley's statement. "Horse whisperer?"

"It's some motion picture I saw part of on the television one night," Coley shrugged. "The main character talked to horses and claimed to understand what they were saying back."

Jim nodded. "Interesting."

Ray smiled, but then sobered. "Are you having any luck with the books, Mr. West?" The unspoken question was, _Do you think you __**will**__ be going back._

Jim sighed. "As a matter of fact, no. I haven't found any material on portals that seal themselves up."

Ray looked thoughtful. "There _is_ a television show about time-travel through a one-way portal," he mused. "It has to be opened anew from each side."

"Not that I believe a television show would have much bearing on reality, but what did they do?" Jim wondered.

". . . I'm not sure," Ray admitted, looking sheepish. "I never really watched the show."

"I'll find out," Jim vowed. "Just in case it will help."

The sound of the door opening brought everyone's attention up. A weary and exasperated Arte shuffled in, his arms hanging at his sides.

"I'm guessing tonight wasn't any better than last night," Jim said.

Arte sank into the nearest chair. "Not as far as finding out where those two are staying," he said in exasperation. "Would you believe it, James? We each called for a different cab company than before and somehow wound up still contacting the same one!"

"So you mean the same cab, from a different cab company, showed up to take all of you," Jim said.

"_Yes."_ Arte covered his eyes with a hand. "You should have seen Miss Posey's expression."

Coley laughed. "I think you'll have to give up, Gordon. It's just not going your way. At all."

"Don't I know it," Arte grumbled. "My only satisfaction is that Miss Posey and Pinto were frustrated too."

"Was it another uncomfortable ride of sitting stiffly on the backseat in silence?" Jim spoke with scarcely disguised amusement. It was an exasperating situation, but he could see the humor in it.

"At first," Arte said. "We were all so boiling mad—or well, at least Miss Posey and I were. I can't speak for Pinto. But none of us felt much like talking."

Ray shook his head. "I can't blame you for being mad _or_ exhausted. You need a chance to unwind; it's been a long day."

"You're telling me. And I haven't even begun to tackle the problem of the sealed portal yet." Arte sighed. "I just don't know what we're going to do about that."

"I don't, either, Arte." Jim went back to the bookshelves. "I've been going through these volumes without success. Mr. Norman mentioned a television show with a one-way portal that has to be opened from each side, but that might not be helpful."

"It might not, but it's a start," Arte declared, perking up. "Maybe at least it would give me an idea of what to try. I'll start researching tomorrow."

"That's a good plan," said Jim.

Coley sat up straight, taking Jane in his arms. "I'd better see if Mrs. Featherstone is still playing bridge," he said, mostly to Ray. "It's getting late."

"And what will you do if she is?" Arte wondered. "Keep Jane with you all night?"

"I don't know," Coley grunted. "She hasn't stayed in my room since I was delirious. I don't remember what she did while I was in bed."

"Mostly she just curled in a ball and stayed there," Ray said. "But that was while you were sick. She might want to climb right up by your head and get under the covers now that you're well."

Arte covered his mouth with a hand, amused by the image.

"Of course," Jim added, deadpanning, "since you're such an excellent cat whisperer, Rodman, I'm sure Jane would cooperate with whatever you'd want to do."

Arte gave Jim a Look. "Cat whisperer?" he said in bewilderment.

Coley petted the purring cat. "She'd listen to me," he agreed. "I'm not worried about that. But the game has to let out sometime. Mrs. Featherstone will be lonely for the cat then, if I have her. Maybe I'll leave her in the recreation room."

"That might be best," Ray agreed. "We should probably all prepare for bed. Maybe we can think better on what to do about the portal in the morning."

"I fully agree, Mr. Norman," Arte said. "If I can get the strength to get out of this chair."

"If you can't, you can always sleep there," said Jim.

"And wake up with a stiff neck and back? No, thank you," Arte declared emphatically. "I'll go to sleep in my own bed, when I get there." He yawned and sighed, leaning into the cushioning of the chair. ". . . Although these things _are_ a lot softer in this day and age."

"Then who knows, Arte." Jim headed for the door. "Maybe you'll end up going to sleep there after all."

"I'll get up," Arte insisted.

Jane delivered a commentary on the matter as Coley carried her to the door, stroking her fur.

xxxx

Ray was still in the library when Coley returned, but Jim and Arte had departed for bed. The sound of tapping keys filled the room as Ray stared intently into the screen of the laptop, but he paused and looked up when he heard the door open.

"Was Mrs. Featherstone still playing?" he asked.

"Nah, she was just finishing. She took Jane with her to her cabin."

"I'm surprised it didn't take you longer to get back," Ray noted.

"It probably would've, but she was actually tired tonight. She didn't do as much talking. She had me walk her to her cabin, though."

Ray was amused. "I didn't think she'd let you go that easily."

Coley did not sit down again and instead wandered about the room, idly looking at the bookshelves and assorted statuary. At last he came to a stop behind Ray, at a window. He rested his arm on the sill.

"So," he said, "how was it? Being away from here today, I mean."

Ray gazed at the ceiling, thinking on the answer. He had known Coley would ask, and he had been wondering himself how he felt about it and how he would phrase it. "It was . . . well, at first I was leery and tense. I kept thinking I saw Portman or one of her men, only to realize I was wrong. But . . ." He turned, looking to Coley. "After a while I realized I wasn't even thinking about it any more. I was thinking about showing you, and Mr. West and Mr. Gordon, what Wal-Mart was like. Then I was wondering about the portal and what would happen and there just wasn't any time to think about Portman."

Coley nodded, pleased to hear it. "Maybe it'll be easier for you to get out again the next time," he said. He smirked. "There's going to be a next time."

Ray smiled. "I know. And I think you're right, that it will be easier. At least . . . it will be if it's like today and I don't have to go alone."

"Oh, I want to see all over this place." Coley came closer and sat on a nearby chair. "And I was wondering about something, too. What are those things we kept passing on the road that looked like motorized bicycles?"

"They're called motorcycles." Ray looked a bit uncomfortable and worried now. "And they can be dangerous."

"As I see it, so can anything else." Coley leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "I'd like to learn more about them. And maybe eventually, if I like them, I'll get one."

Ray shuddered. "I'd worry about you riding one." He paused and sighed. "But if anyone could master it, I'm sure you could."

Coley smirked again. "I will." But then he sobered. "And I'd be careful, Ray."

"I think you would," Ray agreed. "Unfortunately, the other drivers sometimes aren't. And sometimes accidents just happen, without any driver really being at fault." He leaned back. "Of course, you're right that almost anything has the potential to be dangerous—including cars and golf carts."

He paused. "There is _one_ thing I like about the idea of your getting a motorcycle," he said.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It means you're making long-term plans for living here."

They looked at each other. Coley thought about it and finally nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "And tomorrow I'll talk to the security guards and see if I can do anything with them."

"Good." Ray absently set a pen on the laptop. "Then I'll make sure to get my chief of security into my office in the morning."

xxxx

Lucrece was tense as she and Pinto roamed a residential neighborhood not far from the downtown district. They had pulled a trick on Arte again, leaving him bewildered and clueless as they had vanished into a crowd. But despite the late hour, they were still not home yet.

"The cab should have arrived by now," Lucrece said in irritation. "And I have the strangest feeling that we're being followed."

"I've got that same feeling," Pinto said.

Lucrece started to take her gun out of her purse. "Snakes, is that you again?" she demanded, pointing the weapon into the darkness. "I'm warning you, Snakes, don't try anything with us. You're already dangerously close to losing your life, and I know that's something very precious to you."

There was no response. Undaunted, Lucrece continued to grip the gun and began to turn, searching for the mysterious stalker. Pinto reached for his own gun and started to do the same, in the opposite direction.

A car pulled up at the curb. "Lucille?!" a vaguely familiar voice exclaimed. "Is that you?!"

Both criminals jumped a mile. Whirling, Lucrece found herself staring at a stunned Paul Drake in his convertible. Pinto was likewise surprised.

"Why . . . Mr. Drake," Lucrece stammered as she recovered her voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."

"Well, I was hoping you'd call. I've been worried about you." Paul frowned, taking in the sight of Pinto. "Wait a minute. _Who_ are _you_ now?!"

Pinto shrugged and smirked.

"He's one of the . . . _friends_ I told you about," Lucrece said.

"Uh huh." Paul nodded, getting out of the car. "Well, your _friend_ looks oddly similar to a guy who lassoed another guy on the street the other day. This time I'm positive I'm not making a mistake."

"You must've seen Cyril and me goin' after Snakes," Pinto said. "And Snakes might very well be on this here property this minute."

"Then he'd better be prepared to be caught," Paul decided. "And you must be Little Pinto."

Pinto leaned back. "Could be, but what makes you think it?" he retorted. "I've never met you before."

"Oh . . . let's just say I looked you up," Paul said. He paused, taking everything in. Suddenly he looked both sick and disillusioned. "And you, 'Lucille'. That's not your real name, is it? I saw on Pinto's dossier that he's part of the Posey gang. Now that I think of it, under this modern make-up and hairstyle, you look like Lucrece Posey. No wonder you didn't want to bring in the police about your problem." He shook his head. "Boy, do I feel like a fool, being taken in and worrying about _you_."

"So my name isn't Lucille," Lucrece responded. "Everything I told you about our situation is true. I just altered my name. Is that such a crime?"

"No, but I'm guessing you've committed plenty of those," said Paul.

"It's nothing that you can prove," Lucrece said boredly. "Anyway, in this time period, we haven't done anything."

"Wonder of wonders," Paul grunted.

"Look," Lucrece said with impatience as they examined the darkness, "we're looking for Snakes. If we find him, we'll take him with us."

"And kill him, no doubt," Paul sighed.

"He fully intends to kill us," Lucrece replied. "We're just going to get in the first rounds ourselves."

"Well, I'd rather not get in on the fireworks," Paul said. "But I can't very well just walk away knowing there's going to be a shooting."

"Only if we find him. Or if he decides he can get a clear shot at one of us from where he is." Lucrece sounded very occupied as she looked. "Somehow I don't think he'll dare to try anything while you're here."

"Good," Paul declared. "Look, even thought you're obviously not at all what I thought, my offer to legally and legitimately help you still stands. Come with me and we'll go to the police."

Lucrece looked to Paul's car. "Your vehicle is very open and exposed, should Snakes decide he's going to shoot."

"It's still safer than walking around," Paul said firmly. "Especially if Snakes doesn't have any transportation."

"You have a point," Lucrece conceded. "Pinto, we'll finish this later. We'll go with Mr. Drake, but not to report anything to the police." She smiled calmly, coldly. "Instead, Mr. Drake, you're going to drive us away from here and simply go where you're told."

Paul stood his ground. "I wouldn't recommend threatening me with a gun," he said. "I'd be sure to report that."

Lucrece gave him an innocent look. "Did I say anything about a gun? Let's go."

As long as she wasn't holding a gun on him, Paul was tempted to forget the whole idea and decide he had been a fool again for even suggesting it. He did not want to get involved in a gang war, even one that was 140 years old.

But instead he sighed again and headed for the car. "I have one rule, though," he said. "Since I don't know if I can trust either of you, I'll want to put your guns away in the car someplace where you can't immediately grab them. If you can't abide by that, then you can find your own transportation to whatever it is you're trying to go."

Lucrece and Pinto exchanged a look. At last Pinto shrugged and Lucrece exhaled in resignation.

"Alright, Mr. Drake," she said. "We'll play by your rules. But if you are keeping your own weapon, be aware that you might have to use it to fire on Snakes."

Paul cringed. "I know. Believe me, I know."

"And we sent for a cab, which curiously isn't arriving. Should it come after we've left, Snakes might decide to take it and follow us."

Paul took out his cellphone. "Call and cancel the cab while you still can," he ordered.

Lucrece took the phone, frowning as she dialed. "I might be making a mistake," she said.

"I might be, too," Paul returned.

He led them over to the car. "Put your guns in the trunk," he directed as he opened it. "Right here in this strongbox."

Still unsure, but trusting Lucrece, Pinto glowered and complied. When Lucrece hung up with the cab company, she did likewise. Then, as Paul stood guard in case Snakes tried to fire, they got into the car. Paul also did and the engine roared to life.

"So where is it you want to go?" he wondered. "Or should I possibly head for the police department after all?"

"First, just drive around to make sure we're not being followed," Lucrece told him. "Once I'm sure that we're safe, I'll give you directions."

Paul sighed. "Fine."

"You really did get hooked on Lucrece, to get us out of here in spite of knowing what we are," Pinto remarked.

"That's not it," Paul retorted. "And I'll never knowingly aid and abet a criminal. I just wouldn't feel right if I heard later that the two of you and Snakes shot each other to death when maybe I could have stopped it from happening. Just think of it as a common citizen wanting to prevent a crime."

"If you say so," Pinto said. He did not look entirely convinced.

Lucrece did not offer any comments, or so much as a facial expression, as to her thoughts. But Pinto could tell that while she seemed blasé, she was also alert. He remained the same.

xxxx

Snakes cursed as he emerged from the darkness. Not that he had wanted to get into a gunfight with Lucrece and Pinto; all he had wanted was to follow them home. Now he still did not know where they were staying. He could call for a cab, but it would be almost impossible to catch up with them now.

"Hello, Snakes."

He jumped a mile at the familiar voice. Florence was sauntering out from around a corner, the smirk on her face standing out under the streetlamp.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," she said. "I planted a tracking device in that phone I gave you. When you used it earlier this evening, it alerted us to your location. You've been under surveillance all night.

"Really, you're such a bad boy, taking all of those explosives. What are you planning to do with them?"

Snakes could feel his knees quaking. He didn't know what to expect from this woman, but he could easily bet that she was at least as deadly as Lucrece. Maybe moreso. "I . . . I just wanted to have them around," he said. "That was always my specialty, you know—explosions."

"Yes, I know." She came to stand in front of him. "You were rather hasty in terminating our partnership. I think we could still be of use to each other." She smiled wickedly in the darkness. "I have some information I think you've been wanting. And, perhaps, the same holds true for what you know that I want?"

Snakes swallowed hard. "M-Maybe," he said. "But I don't know much. That's why I need to find out where Posey and the others have holed up. I have to follow them or listen in on them to find out the rest."

"That's easily done," Florence said calmly. "You see, I know where they are. I've been there. I've even visited with them."

Suddenly Snakes was more nervous than ever. "You have a deal with them, don't you?!" he exclaimed. "Maybe you're going to turn me over to them."

"I haven't arranged anything like that," Florence replied. "Honestly, they'd be perfectly happy if you'd simply stay out of their lives from now on. You seem to be incapable of doing that."

"I just want to find the portal," Snakes said. "I was hoping they knew about it."

"And do they?"

"I don't know," Snakes stammered. "Well, they _do _know something. I heard them saying something about it being sealed, and them needing to go there and try to fix it, but maybe they don't know exactly where it is."

"Or maybe they do." Florence's eyes glinted. "I'll take you to their home. And I'll even teach you some 21st century methods of bugging a place. We'll be able to hear every word, every sneeze, and every cough. And hopefully, we'll hear about the portal in the process."

Snakes managed a nod. "They'll be having a board meeting when they get back," he said. "At least, based on what happened while I was one of them."

"Then let's make haste," Florence said. "Well? Do we have a deal?"

Snakes considered the matter very carefully before finally nodding. "We have a deal."

He could always use some of the explosives on her if he found he needed to get out.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"Stop here."

Paul cut the engine, frowning as he looked to Lucrece. They were on a residential street, with most of the houses in darkness at the late hour. The streetlamp above the car cast shadows across the dangerous woman's face.

"Is this where you live?" Paul asked, without much hope.

"Of course not," she said, opening the car door. "We'll walk the rest of the way."

Pinto got out as well, smirking at Paul as he touched the brim of his hat. Placing an arm around Lucrece's shoulders, he started to walk away with her.

"A _thank you_ for not letting you get killed would be nice," Paul muttered, although he had not really expected one. He watched the two criminals until they entered the next block, still visible under the streetlights. Then, as quietly as possible, he tried to coast up the street behind them.

"It's interesting, how brightly lit the streets are here, even at night," Lucrece mused.

Pinto nodded. "Sure beats the dark streets back home. But it sure makes us stand out, too."

Paul's stomach dropped. Lucrece reached into her purse, extracting her gun. She turned, pointing it at him in the car.

"You're not going to shoot, Miss Posey," Paul said calmly. "It'd wake up all the neighbors. And you don't seem to want any trouble with the law right now. That's smart. I just can't believe you'd do something stupid to ruin it."

Lucrece glowered, but lowered her arm. "You're smart as well, Mr. Drake. However, kindly remove yourself from our lives. It should be obvious we don't want you to see where we live." She smiled sweetly. "You seem to be a proper gentleman. You'll allow a lady her privacy, won't you?"

"Alright," Paul sighed. "You just _had_ to pull that card on me." He started the engine and moved to make a U-turn. "Stay safe."

He did not like to leave, really, but he supposed he could always come back and search the area more thoroughly if he felt he needed to. They were surely not too far from here.

. . . On the other hand, though, thinking about the time from when they actually hailed, maybe they were used to walking long distances. He cringed.

The revelation that Lucille was really Lucrece Posey was still sending him reeling. He had thought Lucille was so sweet and kind. And Lucrece had pulled that act again just now, to get Paul to leave. Her dossier had not been mistaken about how clever and crafty she was. And boy, would she make a good Hollywood or Broadway actress.

xxxx

In actuality, Lucrece and Pinto did not live so far away from where Paul had dropped them off. With the late hour and the need to meet, Lucrece had not wanted to take a long walk to return home. They went through the door within twenty minutes.

"It's late," Sergei greeted them as he emerged from the kitchen. "Where have you been?"

"We'll explain," Lucrece replied. "Gather everyone together, Sergei. We're having another meeting of the board."

The board meeting proceeded long into the night, with Lucrece and the others discussing the portal and strategies on what to do about it. No one had any logical ideas, although Cyril suggested trying to burn it open and Brutus offered to attempt punching it through. In the end, they determined that they would all make the journey the next day and see firsthand what, if anything, could be done.

"If we do get it open, what then?" Sergei wondered through a mouthful of sandwich.

"We try to find a way to get Mr. West and Mr. Gordon to go through it without us," Lucrece answered. "Maybe it will close again once they're through."

They could, of course, do nothing and figure that they would all remain in the present. But it would certainly be better for them if they did not have to worry about the Secret Service agents interfering with their plans. And killing them would only start an investigation courtesy of Ray Norman and Coley Rodman, so it seemed better all around to just concentrate on the idea of sending the agents back through the portal.

"How will we get there?" Sergei persisted.

"I don't particularly have an interest in spending a day's worth of hiking," Lucrece mused, "but I don't relish the thought of chartering a helicopter or an airplane and allowing another person to know of our interest in the mountain. With our luck, he would most likely start to wonder what was going on."

"Then I move that we have no other choice but to hike," said Brutus.

Lucrece sighed but nodded. "I second the motion."

The rest of the members voiced their assent.

"Although there is still the problem of how we would go to the mountain in the first place," Brutus mused. "The fare for such a cab ride would likely be far from our price range."

"Perhaps," Lucrece mused. "Although surely not more than the cost of hiring an aircraft. But in any case, it would still be someone else to know we were going up there."

"Then maybe we'll have to wait until one of us gets a license," Pinto frowned.

"Or," Lucrece said and then paused, closing her eyes in displeasure at the thought, "we will have to align ourselves with Mr. West and company and travel to the mountain with them when they go there next."

Everyone exchanged looks, not sure what to make of the proposal.

"Working with enemies is not a good idea," said Cyril as he struck a match.

"Neither are our other options at the moment," Lucrece replied. "I'm afraid at this point it's become a case of choosing the lesser of evils."

Pinto nodded. "Lucrece is right. And West and his crew know all about us, so we wouldn't be involving anyone new if we go to them."

"That is something to consider," Brutus said. "Perhaps we should sleep on the motion and vote in the morning. By now it is probably already too late to plan hiking the mountain today, if that is what we decide."

Lucrece glanced at the clock. "I suppose," she said unhappily. "Alright; if no one else has any business, this meeting is adjourned." She tapped the table with the butt of her gun and everyone stood to wander off in their separate ways. Sighing, and massaging the back of her neck, Lucrece headed for the couch.

Pinto followed. "Long day?"

"Quite." Lucrece sank into the cushions. "Tomorrow promises to be even longer."

Pinto sat next to her and began rubbing her shoulders. "Maybe sometime tomorrow we'll have that portal open," he said.

"Perhaps," Lucrece answered noncommittally. She was not very hopeful. From the way it had been described to her, she had the feeling that it would take knowledge they did not have in order to open it.

She started to relax under his steady, firm touch. "Pinto . . . how do you feel about the idea of working with Mr. West and Mr. Gordon?" she asked after a moment.

Pinto considered the question. "It might be the best, for a temporary thing," he said. "Like I said, they already know us. So does Rodman, and that character they're staying with saw us the other night. They said they told him everything."

Lucrece nodded. "I don't particularly appreciate them talking about us, but there's nothing that can be done about it now."

"Who knows; maybe that guy really can be trusted, like they said," Pinto shrugged. "He's had a rough time of it, according to that stuff we found out about him today. I'd say he probably wouldn't want to call more attention to himself by saying anything about us or where we're really from."

"Yes, probably not." Lucrece looked up at Pinto with a pleased smirk. "You're good at this."

Pinto smiled. "All the cricks gone?"

"Almost." Lucrece laid down on her stomach as Pinto continued to rub.

Neither of them had any idea that Florence and Snakes were outside in the yard. With Florence's guidance, Snakes was keeping away from the alarm system.

"You see?" Florence smiled as she clutched a box with antennae in her hands. "This has worked like a charm. All we had to do was to stay where we are and this box picked up everything they said in their meeting. Now we know the portal is on Mt. San Antonio."

"Yeah, but we also know it's closed," Snakes frowned.

"I'll get a team working on it," Florence said. "Subtly, of course."

Snakes looked back to the box, making a face as Lucrece and Pinto continued to talk—now about their relationship and not the portal. "She's really leading him on," he remarked. "Not that I'm surprised she'd do it, but I thought he was smarter than to fall for it. And he's _gone,_ hook, line, and sinker."

"Take it from a woman, Mr. Tolliver," Florence smiled. "She isn't leading him on. And maybe that will be of use to us at some point."

Snakes looked to her with a start. "You're not trying to say she really cares," he said in disbelief.

"She cares so much she doesn't know what to do with herself," Florence replied. "My sister would have found it great fun to try to split them up and worm her way into Miss Posey's place. I, on the other hand, would only be interested in messing with them for business-related purposes."

"I wouldn't mess with them at all if I didn't just want to stay alive and want them out of my way," Snakes said nervously. "Let's not drag anything out."

"We won't," Florence assured him. "We'll only do what is necessary. Completely necessary."

"Good," Snakes said, eyeing the device.

xxxx

As promised, Ray sent for his chief of security the next morning. And to his relief, the man arrived on time.

"Mr. Norman?" he called as he stepped into the office.

Ray nodded. "Come in, Jensen, come in." He stood up from his desk and shook hands with Jensen as he approached. "Sit down."

Jensen did so. "I have the feeling you didn't call me in for a social visit," he said. "Are you wondering about our progress with the Jason Everly problem?"

"You might say that," Ray replied. "Or rather, your lack of progress."

Jensen flushed. "Everly is crafty, Sir. The police haven't been able to find him and serve him with the arrest warrant, either."

"I realize that. But what I really would like to know is how he managed to get in here on two separate occasions, when your men were _supposed_ to be watching for him or any other intruders."

Jensen shook his head. "I can't explain it, Mr. Norman. I talked to the men who were on duty at the time and they can't explain it, either."

"The second time he came here, he wanted to shoot the beloved pet of one of our guests. That simply isn't acceptable. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he wouldn't have stopped there. The people are in as much danger from a madman like that as the animals are."

"I reprimanded those men, Mr. Norman." An edge had slipped into Jensen's voice.

"And they weren't the same men who were on duty the first time he trespassed," Ray said. "It seems that no one is capable of handling this problem. No one except someone who isn't even on the security team."

Jensen's eyes narrowed. "You're thinking of replacing me with your mysterious friend, aren't you."

"If you want to put it that way, then yes, I do." Ray stood again, coming around from his desk. "At least for a trial period. I want to see if Mr. Rodman can train these guards to do their jobs properly. And I didn't want to suddenly remove you from duty, so I called you here to tell you beforehand."

"How sporting of you, Sir." Jensen's tone was dark as he stood too. "We don't even know where that man came from, but suddenly he's in such a privileged position as to take me away from a job I've been at for months."

"_I_ know where he came from," Ray replied. "And that's really all that matters. He's only in such a privileged position, as you put it, because he earned that right. He may not even want the job after he tries it for a while."

"But if you're so dissatisfied, you won't want me back even if he doesn't take my place," Jensen said.

Ray sighed. "That's true, I probably won't. But it's not personal, Jensen. It's only because you _haven't_ earned the right to keep your position."

"Then I don't want to be fired," Jensen said stiffly. "I'd rather resign right now."

"If that's the way you want it." Ray looked him square in the eyes.

"That _is_ the way I want it." Jensen turned to leave. "I hope your new chief of security meets with your approval in every way, Sir."

"I hope so, too," Ray replied.

He sank down at his desk, frowning to himself. It was hard to keep from wondering if he had done the right thing. And yet at the same time, he knew he really had. Jensen had not done a good job with the men under his command. Of course, maybe some of the men were incapable of learning, and if so, they would be let go too. But he had to hope that the majority of them could be proper guards if they were handled right.

He got up again. He would go find Coley and let him know the task was done. Coley could meet with the security guards whenever he wanted.

xxxx

Coley walked up and down the line of guards stretched across the golfing green. They watched him, not moving, not speaking, but the wariness was obvious in their eyes. They did not know what to expect from their inspector and new leader. And from the darker looks of a couple of the men, they resented Coley's presence.

Finally Coley stopped near the middle of the line and stepped back. "Well," he said slowly, "I don't know what to think. You _look_ like decent security guards. Maybe some of you are. But either your training hasn't sunk in or your leader was just guiding you astray, because both times Jason Everly got on this property, the guards on duty were surprised to discover it. My question is, why wasn't this place being patrolled right?"

"Mr. Jensen knew what he was doing," one of the guards answered, bitterly.

"Oh, so you're saying that Everly just managed to outsmart a man who knew what he was doing—twice." Coley eyed the guard. "Okay, let's say Jensen _did_ know what he was doing. Maybe what he wanted all along was to help Everly get in here."

"Why would he want that?!" a second guard cried. "He'd put himself at risk for losing his job, which is exactly what's happening now!"

"And it didn't make any of us look good, either," a third guard remarked.

"Maybe he didn't care about any of that," Coley replied. "Maybe he was on the take."

"You mean, maybe Everly was bribing him," said the first guard.

"Exactly," Coley declared.

"You don't have any proof of that, do you?" the guard challenged.

Coley looked to him, undaunted. "No," he said. "Not yet. But if he wasn't on the take, and nobody else was, either, you're not going to get me to believe that a sharp company of security guards just managed to let him slip inside, twice, without ever realizing it. Security guards who are doing their jobs right just aren't that stupid."

"And now Mr. Norman thinks you can do a better job than Mr. Jensen," the guard frowned.

"It won't take too long to see if I can," Coley told him. "And if I don't get any cooperation from you, and any of your friends who don't like me being here, I'll see that you all wash out. Mr. Norman needs security guards who are loyal to whatever he wants, and right now, he wants me in."

"We don't even know anything about you," a fourth guard spoke up.

"You know that Mr. Norman trusts me," Coley said, "and that should be good enough for all of you. But if you all want to quit right now, go ahead. We could find guards better than any of you easy enough."

He hoped they would not call his bluff. Security guards better than these idiots would probably cost too much for Ray to pay right now. Coley had to simply focus on whipping this crew into shape.

The first guard just narrowed his eyes. "I'm staying," he said. "I want to see just what you're really made of."

Several others murmured their assent.

"Fine," Coley said. "I don't care if that's your motivation. I want to see what _you're_ made of, too."

A voice from the end of the line spoke. "Well, I feel terrible about letting Mr. Norman down," a young guard said. "I thought I was doing my best. And if I wasn't, I want to know what went wrong and fix it."

Several more agreed with him.

"That's a better motivation," Coley told them. "You're loyal to Mr. Norman and not to Jensen."

That is, if they were sincere. Maybe the spy, instead of being one of the belligerent ones, would fake a desire to help Ray. Coley would watch them just as closely as everyone else.

"So," the first guard spoke again, "just how do you think you're going to handle this?"

"First I'm going to review everything Jensen had you doing," Coley said. "I'll watch videotapes of what you were up to on the days Everly showed up. I'll talk to each one of you in private. Then I'll tell you how things will go with me in charge."

The guard looked displeased, but he said nothing.

"You're free for now," Coley said. "Go do your normal assignments. And don't think you'll have a lot of time to get yourselves together when I want to talk to you. I'll just pick whoever, whenever I feel like it. You'll have to answer my questions with whatever's in your head when I ask."

The men started to disperse, wandering off in every direction. One lingered.

"What do you want?" Coley grunted.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm glad Mr. Norman is trying someone new, Sir," the guard said.

Coley perked up. "Oh? Does that mean you don't like what Jensen was doing?"

"I don't like _Jensen,_ Sir. He's always been full of himself. I was pretty sure he was steering us wrong at least sometimes, but he never let anyone question him."

Coley nodded. This guy could be right. Or he could be the spy, trying to cast suspicion on someone else. "What made you think he was steering you wrong?" he asked.

The guard shrugged. "Some of the things he wanted us to do just didn't seem to make sense," he said. "He didn't always spread us out enough to cover the whole golf course and the buildings at once."

Coley would keep that in mind when he spoke with the others. "What _did_ he do?" he persisted.

"He'd bunch us up in groups that were much too big," was the response.

"What about the control room?" Coley crossed his arms. "Did he always have someone watching the cameras?"

"Yes," the guard answered slowly, "but it seemed like he often put the most unreliable guards on the assignment. I started wondering if he was doing it on purpose."

"How were they unreliable?"

"Oh . . . they wouldn't pay attention to the cameras all the time, or they'd fall asleep watching them, or other crazy things like that."

Coley frowned. "Are those guards still here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll want a list of their names."

"I'll make it out for you, Sir."

"Good." Coley watched him closely. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Not right now," the younger man said. "Maybe later I'll think of something more."

"Let me know," Coley said. "And I'll want that list as soon as you can write it out."

"Yes, Sir."

Coley observed the guard heading off to his post. He had certainly plunged into an interesting job, to say the least. Maybe the true test of whether he wanted the task would be all the research he was going to have to do.

That, or maybe the amount of work that these characters would require. If they had to be taught pretty much from scratch, or if he thought they couldn't ever learn right, he would probably tell Ray to fire them all regardless of the money. It would be cheaper to just hire people who knew their stuff to begin with.

But he had to admit, he hoped he _would_ be able to teach these people right. He wanted to be able to do it. Ray was counting on him. And after some of those guards had been snide with him, he had a desire to teach them something most of all. No one acted that way with him and got away with it.

xxxx

It was at the gang's board meeting that morning when they unanimously decided to at least attempt to work with Jim and Arte on the portal. With that in mind, they determined to take a cab to the Oak Bridge Golf Club and officially offer the idea of a truce.

A cab filled with criminals was the last thing Coley expected to see as he walked around to the front of the property, but they were just getting ready to alight from the vehicle as he arrived. He stiffened, a hand going to his gun as he walked over.

"What are you doing back again?" he asked. "Tolliver isn't here."

"We hope not," Lucrece answered. "No, Mr. Rodman, we're here to speak with you, Mr. Norman, and our . . . shall we say, old acquaintances."

Coley was unmoved. "About what?"

"The portal," Lucrece said, meeting his gaze.

"You haven't had any luck with it, have you?" Coley queried.

"No," Lucrece said, "but we would like to soon.

"Are the others here?"

"Yeah, they're here." Coley glanced to the building. "They're inside."

"Take us to them if you will, Mr. Rodman," Lucrece requested.

Coley watched her and the rest with narrowed eyes. "If you try anything, I won't go easy on you," he warned.

"All we want is to talk," Lucrece said. "If we wanted to hurt any of you, we wouldn't be coming all together and we wouldn't be announcing ourselves."

"Unless that was how you planned to catch us off-guard," Coley grunted. But he stepped aside and pointed to the doors. "Give me your weapons and go in ahead of me."

"Ah, so we can't shoot you in the back if we're concealing other weapons?" Lucrece's lips curled in a smirk.

"So I can shoot one of you if you try shooting someone in there," Coley countered.

Lucrece nodded. "Fair enough." She gestured to the others. "Do as he says. Hand over your guns."

"Hand over _everything,_" Coley retorted. "That means Sergei's knives and Cyril's matches too. And Brutus's glove."

Cyril looked as though he had taken the worst possible blow. "But I must have my fire!" he cried. "I can't be without it."

"And Norman can't be without this building," Coley retorted. He held his gun on Cyril. "Give them up."

Lucrece sighed in exasperation. "Don't be difficult, Cyril. If there's a fireplace in the building, maybe Mr. Norman will be nice and let you watch it."

Cyril looked over hopefully. "He might?"

"Yeah, he might," Coley grunted. "So we won't be standing here all day arguing over _matches._"

Cyril pondered on the issue. And it was with the greatest effort that he said, "Well . . . alright," and reached into his pocket, producing a fistful of matchbooks.

Coley stared in disbelief. "What'd you do, buy out the store?!"

"Something like that," Lucrece muttered.

Once everyone had relinquished their weaponry they headed up the walkway, each looking warily at Coley as they moved to the front doors. Coley brought up the rear, his hand on his gun.

Jim, Arte, and Ray were all standing in the main lobby when the group entered. At the sight of the gang, they jerked to attention.

"What is this?!" Ray exclaimed.

"Sorry, Ray," Coley said as he came in too. "I wouldn't have let them in if I hadn't taken their weapons first. Posey says they just want to talk." He leaned against the door, holding his gun on Cyril at the end of the line.

Lucrece nodded. "That's right. Do you have a private office, Mr. Norman?"

"Yes, but I want to know what this is about right now, outside of my office." Ray stood up straight, frowning at her. "I don't like you and your hooligans being in here. Especially that one." He indicated Pinto. "I know what he did to Coley. I nursed Coley back to health after that sick torture. And he's still not completely recovered."

"Of course. It's understandable you wouldn't want Pinto around," Lucrece said calmly. "But he's one of us and he goes where the rest of us go."

"Give us some idea of what you want to talk about," Jim said.

"A truce, Mr. West," Lucrece said as she looked to him. "Until we solve this portal business."

"A truce?!" Ray and Arte echoed.

Ray shook his head. "That's ridiculous. You people can't be trusted."

"We didn't harm anyone the other night, did we?" Lucrece said.

"Well, no, but . . ." Ray placed a hand on the marble counter. "I don't like it."

Arte sighed but stepped forward. "I _did_ tell them about the portal, Mr. Norman," he said. "I trusted that they would be interested, too. And I felt they had a right to know. I suppose you could say that my telling them was _my_ way of extending a flag of truce."

Ray started and looked to him. "Are you saying you're alright with the idea?"

Arte exchanged a look with Jim. "Let's just say that we think as long as we have a common goal, it would be better to work together on it," Jim spoke.

"Then we understand each other, Mr. West." Lucrece smiled. "I felt that would be the case."

Jane padded into the lobby, curious by all the discussion. Upon seeing Pinto, she meowed, looked to Coley, and meowed again, her tail swishing behind her.

"What's with the cat?" Pinto wondered. "Can't figure out why there's two of us?"

"She knows you're not Rodman," Arte said. "But yes, I'm sure she's wondering about it."

Pinto crossed his arms. "She's just a little ol' cat. She couldn't tell the difference."

Jane meowed in displeasure and immediately went to Coley, rubbing against him.

Coley smirked at Pinto. "The cat's crazy about me. Of course she can tell me apart from you. You're just a stranger to her, even if you look like me. But I wonder what she'd do if she knew what you did to me." He touched his right wrist.

Jane stopped rubbing and looked up at Coley. Then, looking to Pinto, she hissed.

"Oh, come on," Pinto objected. "You're not goin' to tell me that cat knows what you said. And that she knows what it means."

"Frankly, at this point I don't think there's much of anything I'd put past her," Coley said smoothly.

"Alright," Arte said, not even trying to hide his smile, "if we're going to work together, we'll have to get along. You'll keep Jane away from Pinto, won't you, Rodman?"

"She'll do what she's told," Coley replied.

"And don't you tell her to scratch him up, as much as you might like to," Arte said, wagging a finger at him.

Pinto looked back and forth between them. "I'm getting the distinct impression you two are trying to snow me," he said. "I'm not scared of a cat. You know what I could do to that cat if she ever tried to jump me."

"We know," Coley said darkly. "And she won't jump you.

"Do you still want to go into Norman's office?"

Lucrece nodded. "We came to discuss the portal as well as the truce. I'm sure all of you agree, it should be a private conversation."

Ray stood up straight again. "You're right, Miss Posey, it should be." He started down the hall. "Come this way."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The days leading up to Thanksgiving passed quickly—first one week, then another. Everyone was keeping busy.

Each weekday Arte was attending a driving class, and when he was at the club, he was studying a book on driving questions that he might be asked when he went to apply for his learner's permit.

Also, as often as possible, he studied all manner of angles concerning the sealed portal and journeyed to Mt. San Antonio to attempt to open it. So far nothing had worked, including the television show Ray had mentioned and Brutus's weighted glove. Everyone was at a complete loss.

Jim still searched for ways to fix the portal as well. Most of the rest of the time he stayed at the club and familiarized himself with modern news and technology. He had grown very adept with the golf cart.

Coley was healing more, enough so that he was finally coming out more often around Ray's other guests. Mrs. Featherstone was still chatty and made him wince at her rambles, but she liked him and he put up with her socializing every now and then.

As before, he mostly preferred talking with Ray, if anyone. Ray was quiet and unassuming, giving him his space when he wanted it and being more than willing to talk when Coley showed an interest in that.

Coley also did not mind conversing with Arte or even occasionally Jim. The four of them had become a close-knit group, with Ray sharing their problems and doing what he could to help solve them. Arte knew he was going to miss that when it was time to go back to the 1870s.

Perry Mason came around at times, checking up on the lot of them. Ray thought and hoped that Perry was gradually warming up to his unusual guests. At least, the amount of times Perry glowered at any of them in suspicion was greatly lessening.

Coley had also continued to assume the job of chief security officer. The guards were still somewhat unsure what to make of him and his gruff, stern attitude. One had even told Ray that he felt like they were under the command of a military officer from days gone by. Ray had struggled to keep a straight face during that exchange.

_If they only knew what he had really been._

For the most part, Coley was not having trouble with them. They had potential and were willing to learn what they did not know. But what bothered Coley was that he could not determine who the spy was. Perhaps it was even the previous chief who had resigned, but they could not depend on that. Every day Coley watched the guards closely, looking for any hint of irregularity in behavior or personality. So far several had displayed possible red flags. It was all but impossible to sort out the mole from the simply quirky.

Lucrece and her board members, when not working on the problem of the portal, were still searching for both Snakes and Florence. Neither had emerged from the shadows, which only served to make the gang tenser as the days went by. They could potentially be anywhere.

Lucrece and Pinto had been doing well in the driving class. They, as well as Arte, were among the top students. Lucrece was pleased about that; once they could drive, they would be able to cover a lot more distance and accomplish other aspects of their plans quicker.

But there was always that lingering concern over their enemies' whereabouts. And anyone could be a spy. Lucrece and the rest could not afford to trust anyone except each other—and to a lesser extent, their current allies.

It was always awkward for Arte to attend class with Lucrece and Pinto, but since they had declared a truce they tried to get along alright with him. They were still unwilling to share the location of their hideout, and Arte had thrown up his hands and decided not to push the matter. Lucrece had provided a telephone number where they could be reached, but Arte wondered if she or one of the others had acquired a cellphone as opposed to a landline. It would be much more difficult to trace, and the gang would likely highly benefit from on-the-go technology.

Sergei, naturally, longed for them to take a break in their searching and struggling for Thanksgiving. And Lucrece, knowing he would constantly have his mind on food if they ignored the holiday (and perhaps desiring a break herself), consented to holding a dinner. She refused to cook any of it, but decided to order one from a catering service. Sergei was perfectly happy with that.

xxxx

Thanksgiving dawned bright and early, with the aroma of many different delicious dishes wafting through the central heating ducts. Arte was soon wide-awake, his stomach rumbling in impatient pleasure.

"Would you smell that?" he exclaimed to Jim, who was sitting on the other bed. "It's a feast, an honest-to-goodness feast!"

Jim nodded. "I have the feeling this is going to be a Thanksgiving unlike any other," he said. "And I mean aside from the fact that we're in the year 2012."

"I believe it!" Arte declared. "They probably have all kinds of new ways to prepare the food, not to mention new dishes entirely!"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Jim admitted.

"And . . ." Arte waved a piece of paper at Jim. "I passed my test for my learner's permit! Now I can get behind the wheel of an automobile for an entire year!"

"I know," Jim said. "You've been showing me that permit ever since you got home last night."

"The driver's license division was absolutely packed," Arte went on. "I must have waited for at least an hour before I could even take the test! And by that point there was the concern that they would shut it down and close for the holiday weekend at any time."

"So you breezed through the test as fast as you could," Jim continued for him.

"And it worked!" Arte said in triumph.

"And Mr. Norman agreed to let you use an old automobile to practice in," Jim finished. "But he'll have to ride with you, since you need a licensed driver present."

"I was thinking of asking him for a trial run tomorrow," Arte said. "What do you think?"

Jim shrugged. "Go for it."

"Do you want to come along?" Arte asked as he got up.

"Why not."

Arte paused near the closet. "The only thing I really worry about is that Pinto and Miss Posey passed their tests, too." He made a face. "It won't be long and I'll be riding in an automobile with one of them at the wheel."

"That's a frightening thought," Jim deadpanned.

"Ohh, don't I know it!" Arte shook his head. "I'm not looking forward to that."

They dressed and left their room, heading for the front part of the building. Just as they neared the reception area, a telephone rang.

Coley, leaning on the desk, snatched up the receiver. "Oak Bridge," he greeted.

He was silent as he listened for a moment. Then he hung up in disgust.

"What's the trouble?" Jim asked as they approached.

Coley pushed away from the marble desk. "Oh, remember that idiot who called a couple of weeks ago and wouldn't say anything to Gordon? Well, someone _keeps_ calling up and not saying anything," he said. "When I answer, they just hang up on me."

Arte frowned. "Do you think it's the same person?"

"I don't know. Norman tells me there's stupid kids—and stupid adults acting like stupid kids—who call up like that just as a prank," Coley said.

"But he doesn't think that's what this is, does he," Arte said.

"No, he doesn't. I don't, either." Tense, Coley walked to the glass doors and looked out at the property. "He still wonders if it might be Everly." _Or Portman,_ he added to himself. He had needed to calm Ray down the other night when Ray had become distraught thinking the calls might be originating from the asylum where Dr. Portman was confined. Coley did not think that was true, and he felt there was no need to tell Jim and Arte about Ray's meltdown unless he could find some sort of proof that it might be Portman.

"How often does this happen?" Arte asked in concern.

"At least once a day. And at all times of the day and night." Coley looked disgusted.

"Are you going to tell him it happened again?" Arte wondered.

Coley walked away from the doors. "Later, maybe. There's no sense spoiling the holiday. He's been looking forward to a nice, peaceful time."

Arte nodded slowly and looked to Jim. "What do you think?" he spoke in an undertone.

"I don't know," Jim frowned. "It does seem extreme for a prank."

Arte nodded. "Every day for two weeks?" He sighed. "We know Everly is out to ruin Mr. Norman and we wondered if he had made the original silent call. But what would be the point of this?" Arte gestured to the phone. "Why wouldn't he try something more serious?"

"Maybe he's preparing for that, Arte," Jim said. "Maybe he wants to drive Mr. Norman out of his mind first, by always letting him know he's around, watching."

"That could be it," Arte agreed. "I just hate to think what he might do later."

Jim nodded his agreement. "We'll stay on guard."

xxxx

Jim and Arte had still been planning to share a private dinner with Ray and Coley. And when they entered their favorite dining room at dinnertime and saw the buffet table laden with all types of food, Arte's eyes went wide and his stomach roared.

"Oh, look at this, Jim!" he exclaimed. "It's a masterpiece!" He gestured wildly. "And all of this for the four of us?"

Ray laughed. "I'm sure we can put a good deal of it away."

Coley was already making a beeline for the plates at the end of the table. Arte hurried after him. Jim, smiling, hung back to stroll over with Ray.

"Rodman's been settling in well," he noted.

"He has," Ray said with pride. "And he has been amazing for my security guards. I didn't realize how incompetent my first chief of security must have been until I got Coley in here."

"You don't think that he could have been incompetent on purpose?" Jim asked.

"You mean that maybe he was the spy," Ray summed up. "Yes, I've thought of it. And I don't know, Mr. West. I just don't know. I'd like to believe that, and that we don't have to worry about a spy in here anymore, but it sounds too simple."

"It does, doesn't it," Jim mused.

They each filled their plates high with food and gathered around their table to eat. As they began, Arte looked to Ray with hopefulness. "Mr. Norman, may I ask you something?"

Ray looked up in surprise. "Of course. What is it?"

"Well, you know I passed my test for the learner's permit," Arte said slowly.

"Yes, I know."

"And I want to get right on driving and have some experience already under my belt when I schedule the driving sessions with the instructor," Arte went on. "And, well, Mr. Norman, I need a licensed driver with me when I practice, and you're the only licensed driver we really know well and trust."

Ray leaned back, considering the proposition. He had known it would come, and he had wondered how he would react when presented with it. He was still not fond of traveling away from the golf club, and practicing with Arte would mean that eventually they would end up downtown. He was not crazy over the thought of putting his life in the hands of a fresh new driver, particularly at rush hour.

But Coley was eager to continue exploring the city now that he was more fully on the mend. Ray had known that would happen; Coley would not be happy just staying mostly at the club, as Ray did. He was healthy and well, mentally as well as physically, and was intrigued by the thought of the big city. He thought about it even more since their trek to Wal-Mart. Ray had been preparing himself for their next trip, wanting to spend time with his friend and hoping to more fully overcome his paranoia of running into Portman or her men.

"Yes," Ray said at last. "Of course I'll come with you, Mr. Gordon."

Arte brightened immensely. "Thank you, Mr. Norman!" he exclaimed. "I promise you won't regret it!"

Ray was not as sure, but he smiled and nodded. "It will give Coley another chance to get out," he said. "For something other than trying to open the portal, that is."

"I never expected my next chance would come with Gordon driving," Coley grunted. But he was agreeable to it.

"I promise you, Rodman, it will be a day you won't forget," Arte declared.

"I can believe _that,_" Coley rejoined.

"Oh, Mr. Gordon, I should warn you," Ray said suddenly. "Tomorrow is a huge shopping day and the kickoff for the Christmas season. There's going to be lots of traffic." He swallowed hard. "Maybe it would be better to stay on the property tomorrow and just start out slow."

Arte paused. "You might be right," he conceded. "Or, how about this? We start out here and see how well I can handle the automobile. And if I'm doing well, we branch out."

Ray nodded slowly, even as his stomach did flip-flops at the thought of being out on Black Friday. "That sounds fair," he said. "But _only_ if you do well."

"Naturally. I wouldn't want to get us into a wreck!" Arte dug into the mashed potatoes. "These are absolutely delicious! Is there any chance I could get the recipe from your chef?"

"I think I could arrange that," Ray said with a smile, relieved for the change of subject.

xxxx

It was late that night when Lucrece settled on the couch with Pinto. The caterers were gone, Sergei was raiding the refrigerator, and Cyril was entranced by the fireplace. And with Brutus training again and Gallito lavishing attention on his beloved spiders, Lucrece and Pinto were left quite to their own devices.

"It's been a strange couple of weeks, hasn't it?" Lucrece mused.

She was resting against Pinto's shoulder, her hair loose and draped down her back. She rarely wore it out that long, but Pinto liked it and she was too worn out to bother putting it back in its tight, proper style. She let him brush his hand over it, taking one lock between his fingers and then another.

"Pretty strange, alright," Pinto agreed. "We're workin' with some of our worst enemies, trying to blow open a portal so we can get them through it and stay here. And meantime, we've got Snakes on the loose somewhere, wanting to kill us all."

Lucrece sighed. "The way things are going, it would seem that we'll all be stuck here. The secret agents and Snakes too."

"I wonder if there's any old records somewhere that would say what happened to us," Pinto mused. "Not those things anyone can find on the Internet, but something else, something deeper."

Lucrece rose up just slightly to look at him. "You sound like you know exactly what kinds of records you want."

"Well . . . you were asking a couple of weeks ago about getting married," Pinto reminded her. "So I just wondered if there might be any family records, that kind of thing."

"You wonder if we might have any descendants here," Lucrece deduced.

"I'm wondering if we have any descendants _at all,_" Pinto replied.

Lucrece shrugged and looked down, not wanting to admit how the query affected her. "You could look it up, if you want."

"Yeah, I could. There hasn't been much time, though. And then I get wondering if I'd really want to know. Lookin' into our own future and all." Pinto shook his head. "Imagine, Lucrece—technically, we're _dead_ in this time. We've already lived our lives and gone on."

"Unless we never do get back and we live the rest of our lives here," Lucrece pointed out. "We wouldn't have any descendants listed in that case, either, because we currently haven't even started our family line."

Pinto chuckled. "Hoo boy, is time-travel ever complicated."

Lucrece fell silent. ". . . Of course," she said at last, "even if you looked up that information and didn't find any descendants, it wouldn't necessarily mean that we never go back. It could mean one of us died. Or that we never had children to begin with, even if we both stayed alive." She toyed with a button on Pinto's shirt.

Pinto was quiet too, as he processed her remarks. "Yeah," he said slowly, "yeah, it could mean one of those things too." He watched her, not sure what to think. "You're talkin' about me dying."

She gripped the button. "I said 'one of us'. That wouldn't pertain solely to you."

"No, it wouldn't," Pinto admitted. "But say, Lucrece. . . . If I asked you to marry me, right away I mean, what do you think you'd say?"

She froze. "I don't know." She released the button, sitting up straighter on the couch. "Would we honestly want to be married in the middle of all this? At least we should have a better idea of where we're going to stay for the rest of our lives."

"Right now I'd say it looks pretty good that we might be living here," Pinto said. "But even if we don't know where, wouldn't it be better to just do it if we want it?" He turned to face her more, laying his hands on her shoulders. "It's like you say, Lucrece—one of us could die. Life's just unpredictable, no matter what time we're in. If we keep putting it off, maybe we'll never get around to it."

Lucrece averted her gaze. Pinto's words could also apply to how she kept putting off actually saying out loud that she loved him. Once she said it for him to hear, that would be that. They would fully step into a new zone, an unfamiliar zone.

Or at least, that was how she had thought of it. But as she looked up at him, gazing deeply into his earnest brown eyes, she wondered if it would be so unfamiliar after all.

". . . I hated being alone," she said finally. "After I escaped from the women's prison I ran wherever I could to stay ahead of the police. I looked for others to recruit as my board members. There were a few here and there who might have worked. If Dr. Faustina hadn't performed her death-defying experiments, I might have gone back and collected those people."

"Why didn't you take them right at the time?" Pinto wondered.

"That's the point," she told him. "Even with them, I still felt alone. It wasn't the same, not without you. I wasn't sure I wanted to set up my empire with those people. So I kept running, and searching, looking for something that wasn't real. Something I couldn't have without you, even if I wasn't willing to admit my purpose to myself.

"I . . . I do want to marry you, Pinto," she found herself stammering. Suddenly emboldened, she leaned forward and embraced him. "I won't lose you again. I want you to be with me, always. I love you."

She stiffened. The words were out and Pinto had froze too, probably wondering if he was hearing right.

"Lucrece . . . ?"

She pulled back, staring at him in amazement. "It doesn't feel any different," she realized. "Now that I've said it, I mean. I thought it would be so strange."

"Maybe it would be," Pinto said softly, "if you didn't already know you love me." He kissed her. "It was just a matter of getting it out."

Lucrece smiled, returning the kiss. "Maybe you're right."

xxxx

Coley was not really surprised when, following another bout of insomnia, he found Ray in the dining room that night.

"What are you doing still up?" he wondered.

Ray shrugged and shook his head. "Nervous about tomorrow, I guess."

Coley sat next to him. "It'll be alright," he said. "I don't think Gordon's going to run us into a ditch or over a cliff."

Ray half-smirked. "No, I don't think so, either. Although I _do _wonder what we're going to be up against with a new driver, I guess I . . . I'm mainly nervous about entering the real world some more. Going out to the mountain doesn't count, since that's pretty isolated. But I'll be going to the city with Mr. Gordon until he gets his license, and you know I've been living mostly as a recluse, here in this club. And then to have to break away, to go back to being around all kinds of people like anyone else . . . it scares me."

Coley rested a hand on Ray's arm. "You'll make out," he said. "Just like you did last time. You know this is something you need to do sooner or later, so you'll do it."

"I just wish it was later, not sooner."

"Look, it'll be _okay._" Coley paused. "And on the off-chance it isn't, I won't try to get you out of here again any time soon. Is that a deal?"

A slow smile sneaked across Ray's features. "It's a deal," he said.

Coley patted him on the shoulder. "Good."

Ray sighed. "Now, to focus on worrying about that cliff."

"Eh?"

Ray smirked. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

"So you're not worrying. Mostly."

"Well . . ." Ray looked at his friend. "It would be stupid not to worry at least a little, wouldn't it? There _are_ cliffs in Los Angeles. Or drops just as bad as cliffs, anyway. And you never can tell with a driver just out for the first time."

"I guess not," Coley conceded.

xxxx

The night passed peacefully for everyone. When morning dawned, Arte was up bright and early, eager to begin his first day of driving. Amused, Jim listened to his excited rambles as they dressed and had breakfast.

Ray and Coley slept in a bit longer, but were up by the time the agents were finishing breakfast. Within another hour they were all outside, heading towards the old automobile Ray had selected for Arte to use.

"Oh, here's the keys," Ray said, handing them over.

"Thank you, Mr. Norman!" Arte took them almost reverently, examining both them and the car in awe before unlocking the door and climbing inside. Ray walked around to the passenger side, and Jim and Coley got into the back, behind their closest friends.

Arte pulled the door shut and watched in fascination as the automatic seatbelt slid over his shoulder. "Alright," he said. "Now, I watched plenty of people driving in the moving pictures the class saw each day. And after driving the Juggernaut, this should be even easier!"

Ray watched him. "I'll let you work with it, unless you get stuck," he said.

Arte placed the key into the ignition and gave it a firm turn. The engine roared to life and Arte smiled brightly, pleased. He glanced behind them and then forward, determining in what direction they should go.

Growing a bit nervous when Arte seemed lost, Ray tapped the shift without moving it. "You adjust this for the direction you want," he said.

"Oh, of course." Arte grabbed it. "I haven't seen it in this location on the other automobiles." He pulled it to the Reverse position and backed the car up with a sharp jerk. "My apologies."

The next attempt went smoother. He began to cramp the steering wheel to the right.

Ray remained tense until they were out of the parking space and Arte was maneuvering around the rest of the parking lot. "This actually isn't going too badly," he had to admit.

It was the next instant when the car slammed forward and one of the wheels flew onto the curb. Everyone fell hard against their seatbelts.

"What the . . . !" Coley gripped the inside of the door. "Gordon, what did you just do?"

"I, uh . . . I'm afraid I just hit the accelerator," Arte said sheepishly.

"I'm sure it could happen to any new driver," Jim shrugged.

Ray ran a hand over his eyes. "Try backing up, _slowly._"

Arte complied, managing to get the car lowered onto the asphalt again. He began another round along the perimeter of the parking lot.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it now," he proclaimed. "I knew it shouldn't be too hard to figure out!"

Jim glanced to Ray. "You have to admit, he really is doing well for his first time."

Ray nodded slowly, still anxious, but trying to relax. "You are, Mr. Gordon," he said. "Especially for your first time, yes."

Arte smiled, pleased with himself. "Then let's try going down here." He made a right-hand turn and started to cruise along the long road branching out from that side of the parking lot. "Where does this lead?"

"Through the gates, if you follow it far enough," Ray told him.

"I'd like to," Arte said. "I'd like to very much."

Ray leaned back in the seat. "We'll see."

Coley, by contrast, was leaning forward, crossing his arms on the top of the passenger seat in front of him. "It's going smooth here," he said.

Arte nodded. "And the only way I can really learn how to work this beautiful device on the road is to take it on the road and interact with other vehicles."

Ray swallowed hard. "That's true," he conceded. "But do you feel you're ready?"

"I'm ready to try, at least!" Arte replied.

_But I'm not sure __**I**__ am,_ Ray thought to himself in despair.

Coley could see Ray's white knuckles on the door's armrest. "Take it easy, Gordon," he said. "At least instead of shooting out on that busy street, try something smaller first, maybe a street with houses instead of businesses."

"That might be better," Ray said in relief. "You could work your way up to the busy streets. They really are crowded today, especially."

Arte considered that. "I suppose you're right," he said. "I might put everyone in danger when I'm so new at this."

Ray nodded. "New drivers should really start out slow."

"Alright then, Mr. Norman. Can you direct me to some nearby residential streets to practice on?" By now Arte was heading for the wide curve in the road.

"I think so," Ray said. "But oh, slow down here, Mr. Gordon. Don't try taking curves fast until you're more used to them."

Arte slowed, but not enough. As the car zipped around the curve, everyone was jostled and the vehicle swerved dangerously close to the edge. The back left tire scraped the curb.

"Yes, I see what you mean," Arte said sheepishly as he fought to straighten out the car's direction. "I'm sorry about that."

"That's alright," Ray said, but he looked shaken. "We were just lucky another car wasn't trying to come up."

Arte frowned. "That could have been disastrous, couldn't it?" he mused. He slowed more. "Perhaps I should just practice on the property today. There's quite a few dangers to learn about right here."

Ray relaxed—slightly. "Let's do that," he said. "There might be a lot of people on the residential streets trying to go out or come back from the stores. I'd rather we avoided them if we could."

Arte nodded. "Then we will, Mr. Norman," he promised. "And I'm sorry if I've been causing you any anxiety."

"Oh . . . that's probably just me," Ray said. "I've been nervous ever since . . . well, most of this year."

But deep down he was developing a great sympathy for all driving instructors everywhere. They probably spent some part of every day wondering if their students were going to get them into a wreck. And they probably spent parts of some days really getting into wrecks.

He mentally added that to the list of jobs he would never want to have.

xxxx

Snakes paced about on the mountaintop, edgy and anxious. Florence had secretly flown several of her scientists to Mt. San Antonio, thinking that Black Friday would be a perfect day to work on the portal. They had also been there yesterday, although not for long, as the scientists had all complained of wanting to go home and eat.

So far, not much progress had been made. At least, not as Snakes saw it. But Artemus Gordon had been experimenting with electricity, feeling that it was the key since electricity had opened the portal in their time. Florence had instructed her scientists to pick up on that and take it as far as they could go.

And what would happen if and when they made a breakthrough? Would that be when Florence would decide Snakes was of no further use? She was not likely to simply throw him into the portal, since if they could get it open she wanted to experiment more and see if it could be made to go forward instead of back. She was likely to kill him, the same as Lucrece had. And after having died once, he was all the more insistent that it was not going to happen again.

"Look!"

Snakes jumped a mile and whirled at the scientist's excited voice. He was just in time to see a pebble vanish inside the portal. The next one bounced off of it.

"What did you do?" Florence demanded. "What made it work for that brief moment?"

"I'm not sure," the man replied. Excited now, he scrambled for his notes. "But I'm sure I can duplicate it!"

"See that you do, darling," Florence ordered. "And when you've found that secret formula, see how far you can expand on it."

She turned, noticing that Snakes was watching. She smirked at him. "We should be on our way before long now," she said. "We just have to hope that a group of hikers don't suddenly appear and force us to stop our work before they see."

"Y-yeah," Snakes stammered. "We wouldn't want that."

But he was wondering how soon he wanted the portal to be opened, if Florence was the one doing it. Maybe, he thought, he should have allied with Jim and Arte. At least they would not try to kill him.

Maybe he should still try to do something about that. He did not want to ally with them openly, now that they were working with the Posey gang, but perhaps he could send them an anonymous message and a picture or two, informing them of the work going on with the portal. They would have to come to see what was going on.

And with any luck, perhaps he could get them all to destroy each other and obtain the secret of the portal for himself in the process.

Of course, if all of his enemies died, he wouldn't need the portal. But the secret of its operation might still be useful to have on hand.

He stepped back and watched, continuing to plot. He would need a camera, but it shouldn't be too hard to get hold of one of those. And he would have to send the film somewhere to be developed, unless he used one of the ultra-modern digital cameras.

He would also need to make sure Florence could not track his movements when he did anything with the pictures or mailing the package. Naturally, if she learned, that would be an automatic death sentence right there.

But he was not going to die.

He brought his hands up to his face, blowing into them to keep warm but mostly wanting to hide his smirk. He might need a few days to bring this all together, but he was quite sure that this could be a foolproof plan.

At least, he was going to make sure it was.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

It was the following Wednesday when Arte experienced some of Ray's terror. He was a passenger in the back of the student car, observing as Pinto sped through the streets of downtown Los Angeles without any apparent fear or hesitation. In the seat next to him, the driving instructor looked sheet-white.

"Git along, little dogies!" Pinto yelled out the window, honking the horn at several slow drivers as he moved into the next lane over.

An angry driver who had just been cut off yelled and swore at Pinto, giving him the finger.

"Mr. Bowen, be careful!" the instructor exclaimed. "That car could have hit us!"

Arte ran a hand over his face. The two hours of this session could not end fast enough.

xxxx

Lucrece, who had been unable to reserve a space for that driving sesson, met them back at the building with a cab when it was over.

"Well?" she greeted Pinto. "How did you do?"

Pinto smirked in triumph. "The instructor wasn't too happy a couple of times when I sped up the car, but overall he was pretty pleased with my skills."

"And you, Mr. Gordon?" Lucrece looked over Pinto's shoulder at Arte. "You seem a bit shaken."

"Do I?" Arte said lightly. "Oh no, Miss Posey, you're mistaken. Although I _do_ have to wonder what you were thinking, Pinto," he added, frowning at his temporary ally.

Pinto shrugged. "I like to live just a little bit dangerous."

"A little bit?!" Arte shook his head. "Pinto, I hope that you never drive a car Mr. Norman is riding in. He was agitated enough with me driving, and I didn't take deliberate chances like you did!"

"Alright, nevermind," Lucrece interrupted. "We have some time before any of us attend another session. Are we going to visit the portal again soon?"

Arte sobered. "Yes, about that. As I told you two before, I believe that electricity is the key. Somehow we need to recreate the circumstances that blew the portal open back in 1874."

"I don't know how we can ever hope to generate that much electricity without someone noticing," Lucrece retorted. "And what about the fact that the other end of the portal is in Justice, Nevada? Perhaps something is wrong in present-day Justice and that is why the portal re-directed to Los Angeles instead."

"I've thought of that," Arte sighed. "In fact, Mr. Norman is trying to arrange for a private airplane to take some of us to Justice and investigate that very thing. Unfortunately, there won't be room enough for all of us, so we'll have to pick and choose who goes."

"Then we'll do that," Lucrece said curtly.

"You know, Lucrece was in Los Angeles right before the portal opened up," Pinto said. "She was heading to Justice when this big light somehow transported her and her horse all the way to Dr. Faustina's hideout."

Arte turned to look at her with a start. "_That's_ how you appeared out of nowhere!" he exclaimed. "Rodman and I couldn't figure it out at all."

"You were watching?" Lucrece sounded slightly concerned, as though she wondered just how much they had seen.

"From a distance," Arte said. "We saw Pinto approach you, but it was storming so hard we couldn't see much of anything else very well."

Lucrece relaxed.

"Maybe that could be the connection between the two places then," Pinto offered. "We figured that Lucrece ended up out there because of the crazy storm and Faustina's machines acting up."

Arte nodded. "It could have been an early manifestation of the space-time continuum starting to rip," he said. "And then when it tore apart completely, it just sent us all down that invisible path Miss Posey had crafted to Los Angeles. There might not be anything to see in Justice, especially if that's the case, but we should probably still have a look."

"How large is this private airplane?" Lucrece asked.

Arte thought about it. "Oh . . . I suppose maybe five or six people could go along," he replied.

"Pinto and I will go," Lucrece said. "The others wouldn't know enough about science to make sense of it without us." She paused. "The trip will just take a few hours all together, won't it?"

"Probably, especially if we can't find anything," Arte said. "The pilot should be able to land right in the desert area we want. We could get out, look around, and be ready to go back to Los Angeles in as little time as a couple of hours."

"Then that should be fine. Do you know what day this might happen?"

"Sometime this weekend, perhaps," Arte replied. "Sooner, if Mr. Norman can arrange it. Actually, he's been trying since shortly after we agreed on an alliance. It's been hard to find an available private plane, but just today he received a call that several dates are available."

"Of course you and Mr. West will be going," Lucrece remarked. "And I imagine Mr. Norman and Mr. Rodman want to go as well?"

"Yes, they do," Arte nodded. "But if there's only room for one other besides Jim and myself, Mr. Norman said for Coley to go, since he was in that area with us in the past."

Lucrece nodded too. "Let us know when and we'll be ready."

"Will do," Arte promised.

xxxx

That was how, the next morning, the chosen six arrived at a private airfield and were soon flying along the path to Justice, Nevada.

"We should be there in no more than an hour," the pilot told them. "Maybe a bit more, probably less."

"Incredible, isn't it?" Arte said in an undertone to Jim and whoever else was nearby. "An hour! And in our time it would take us a good two or three days, most likely."

Jim looked out the window at the sights far below. "It's something else, alright."

Coley gave the view a cursory glance and turned his attention to Ray. "Are you sure the club will be alright without at least one of us there?" he asked.

Ray sighed. "Well, I have to hope _some_ of the staff is both competent and trustworthy," he said. "And if the trip really is as uneventful as we've been thinking, we'll probably be back in the same amount of time that a trip to the mountain would take."

"I guess that's true," Coley conceded.

He preferred for Ray to be along, really. And he knew Ray preferred it. In spite of themselves they were both tense, wondering what would happen in the Nevada desert, if anything. It was the same nervous feeling that had plagued Ray when they had gone in search of the portal. Now he wondered again whether something would just mysteriously pull Coley back to his time, if he got too close without realizing. And this time, Coley was wondering more strongly about it himself.

They had gotten a late start that morning; it was afternoon by the time the plane was flying low above Justice. "How far away from town would you say it is?" the pilot called.

Jim and Arte peered at the small town. "It looks like it's been built up quite a bit," Arte noted.

"Yes, it does," said Jim. "The hill was supposed to be at least a few miles away, but with all of these additional homes and buildings it's surely less than that now. I might recognize it, especially if that lightning rod is still sticking out of it."

The pilot raised an eyebrow. "A lightning rod in a random hill in the middle of the desert? You're looking for some strange people."

Jim smiled. "You could say that."

Coley grunted. "They blend right in," he muttered. "The whole town's strange."

Pinto smirked. "Ain't it the truth." He and Lucrece gazed at the town as well, as the plane headed past it. "That looks like the funeral parlor down there," he said, tapping the window.

"And it looks like now it's some sort of a museum," Lucrece remarked in irritation.

"Why, yes," Arte spoke up. "They found all your fascinating additions to the place and memorialized them, according to the town's website. Everyone can take tours and see where the infamous Posey gang had their hideout right under the sheriff's nose for years."

Lucrece rolled her eyes. "It was also our home," she said. "Would you like them turning your train into a museum?"

Arte leaned back. "I'm not sure about that," he admitted. "It's not as though we'd be around to live there anymore."

"Or maybe you're prideful enough that you wouldn't mind having your home on display," Lucrece said dryly.

Arte shrugged. "Perhaps," he said. "But don't tell me you're not just a bit prideful that way yourself, Miss Posey."

Lucrece gazed at the funeral parlor one last time before they were too far past it. "I don't mind sharing my genius with people," she said, "but only if they're intelligent enough to understand it. Most of the people giving and taking those tours likely have no idea what really went into crafting the secret rooms and booby traps hidden in that mortuary. They're just tramping through our home with foolish comments and a superficial sliver of appreciation, if any."

"Ah, then it seems you are actually more prideful on the subject than even I am," said Arte.

"Not that it matters," Lucrece added boredly.

"No, I suppose not," Arte agreed.

It wasn't that much longer and the pilot was pointing out several hills making up the desert terrain. It still took some time, but Jim finally noticed a rusted metal pole and the pilot moved to land the plane nearby.

Jim was out before the vehicle was even completely stopped. He hastened to the hill, searching for the secret lever that operated the door. The others stood by, observing.

"Funny thing, isn't it?" Pinto said. "Seeing the lightning rod so old and beat-up, I mean. And we were all there with it when it was fresh and new a few weeks ago."

The panel slid open and Jim jumped back, wanting to avoid falling inside. Then, once he was sure it was safe, he leaped into the opening.

With the plane now fully stopped, the others began to disembark. The pilot barely noticed, instead staring at the hole in the hill with goggle-eyed fascination. "How did you guys know about that?!" he exclaimed.

Arte glanced over, a bit uneasily. "Oh . . . we've had occasion to run into some very odd things now and then," he said. "As you said, we're looking for some strange people."

Lucrece smirked.

Ray gazed at the entire area in awe as he stepped down, his hair blowing in the quiet desert breeze. "This is where it all started," he mused aloud. "In this barren wasteland, the space-time continuum opened up and sent all of you to this year."

Coley landed beside him. "Weird to think about, isn't it? Especially since for us it feels like only a few weeks have passed, when it's really been 138 years."

He seemed somewhat tense as he studied the desert, his hands on his hips. Finally, determining that nothing seemed ready to happen, he moved towards the hill.

"The actual portal was inside, wasn't it?" Ray realized as he chased after his friend.

"Yeah, down in the main control room." Coley stood at the entrance, not certain if he dared to go down. "What's it like down there?" he called to Jim, who soon appeared.

"Everything's still a mess," Jim said. "There's no sign of Dr. Faustina and Miklos. Either they ended up in the present-day too, or else they just abandoned this place."

"What about the portal?" Ray demanded. "Is there any sign of that?"

"Not that I can tell," Jim said. "I threw a few pieces of old machinery around in the air, but none of them caught on something or bounced back."

Ray leaned back in bewildered amazement. "Does that mean there really isn't anything to see here?" he breathed. "That even though it started here, it didn't stay here?"

"It looks that way," Jim said.

Arte climbed through the opening now. "Well, I want to see this for myself," he said. "And if nothing else, maybe we can find some old notes on the amount of electricity Dr. Faustina used for the machines that last time. That could prove vital to opening the portal.

"Everyone, I would recommend staying together in groups of two, since we still don't know what we're dealing with."

"That's perfectly alright with us," Ray declared.

Pinto and Lucrece followed the agents down but returned momentarily, seeming unimpressed.

"Nothing to see?" Coley greeted them.

"It looks extraordinarily the way we left it," Lucrece said. "There isn't a portal there. I don't imagine Mr. West and Mr. Gordon will linger long. And that's just as well, with very little daylight left."

"I guess that's true," Ray said, visibly relaxing at the news that there was not a portal.

"We'll be nearby," Pinto said. He drew an arm around Lucrece's waist as they began to wander over the nearby dirt and sand.

"They're cozy," Coley commented. "I didn't think they wanted to show it around the rest of us."

Ray looked to him in a bit of surprise. "You noticed?"

Coley smirked. "Maybe they didn't want to show it, but I could see it in their eyes, especially his." His eyes narrowed. "It was weird to realize that somewhere in that sadistic heart, he actually loves her."

"That's strange to think about," Ray admitted. "After the way he treated you, I didn't think he could be capable of love towards anyone."

Coley shrugged. "People like them have odd ideas. It doesn't matter much to me. Someone like Everly would probably be all bitter and want to use it against them, but me, I just don't care that much. Let them love each other if they want. I'd rather move on with my life instead of trying to get revenge."

Ray smiled. "Maybe they realized that, so they didn't mind letting you see their affection for each other."

"Maybe." Coley turned his attention to the opening in the hill. "Do you want to go down there?" he asked at last. "I figured you wouldn't."

Ray shuddered. "I don't think I could stand another mad scientist's lab. Especially underground. It would feel like everything was closing in on me. And I'd probably spend the entire time panicking over the thought of the panel suddenly closing up and trapping us inside." He glanced to Lucrece and Pinto again. "I don't like the thought of leaving our rescue up to them."

Coley nodded, looking thoughtful. "You wonder how far they might go. They want West and Gordon out of the way. And if they trapped the four of us underground, and killed the pilot, those problems might be solved.

"But on the other hand, they can't fly the plane, so they wouldn't want to kill the pilot. And your staff knew we were going away somewhere, so if you and I didn't come back, they'd start an investigation. And if those two just tried to trap West and Gordon, we'd stop them." He crossed his arms. "They realize all that. I don't think they'll try anything."

Ray sighed. "I hope you're right."

Coley pushed away from the panel. "West and Gordon probably won't be down there much longer. Let's just wander around a while and wait for them."

Ray looked relieved to move away from the hill. "Did you ever have to hide out around here?"

"Nah, there's no place to hide out, other than in that thing, and it was already occupied. I went right to the town of Justice, home of the idiots." Coley shook his head. "I'm telling you, Norman, out of all the places I stayed in the years I was on the run, nothing topped Justice in its nuttiness. Most people with any sense stayed away from there. And those who didn't had very little trouble bamboozling that crazy sheriff."

"It sounds terrible," Ray proclaimed.

"It was actually kind of funny, as long as you weren't right there when you laughed about it," Coley smirked.

Ray chuckled.

xxxx

"Junk, junk, and more junk!"

The pieces of metal creaked and groaned as Arte shoved them aside, where they toppled over on the floor. He cringed at the noise.

"There's obviously nothing here that will help us figure out what's wrong in Los Angeles," he said as he straightened. His voice sounded slightly strained.

"It looks like it," Jim agreed. "But somehow I don't think that's what's bothering you, Arte."

"Bothering me?" Arte said lightly. "Why would anything be bothering me, other than not being able to discover the secrets of the sealed portal?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "Unless it's this place in general . . . what it stood for."

Arte sighed, looking away. "I suppose I'm still thinking about when I thought you were dead," he admitted at last. "And instead Dr. Faustina had you here." He shuddered. "It's so unsettling, seeing it 138 years later. And I start wondering what would have happened if Rodman and I hadn't found you and you weren't able to escape from the bad doctor."

"That's a lot to be thinking about," Jim said. He could tell Arte not to think about it, but that was really pointless. The thoughts would still come. Sometimes Jim still thought about when he had believed Arte was dead—although he tried to push those thoughts away whenever they came.

Noticing a piece of old and yellowed paper wedged under a fallen metal beam, Jim reached and carefully slid it out.

Not seeing what Jim was doing, Arte continued. "Then I remember the fight . . . how I thought I was going to lose you for real when I'd just found you alive and well . . . Rodman jumping in to save you. . . ." He sighed. "And all of us ending up out of our time. You know, Jim, even though we both want to get back, it's going to be strange being back there now that we know what the future is like."

"If we ever get back there," Jim said, sounding occupied. "But at least we still don't know what our own futures are like."

"That's true." Arte turned and then stopped, surprised to see Jim with a piece of paper. "What's that?"

Jim held it out. "Something Dr. Faustina wrote after we were all gone."

Arte took it. "'All of our experiments were in vain now,'" he read. "'Every one of the dead people we restored to life have vanished, along with the Secret Service agents who were supposed to verify our claims to President Grant. Obviously it was our own fault; we overloaded the machines with far too much electricity. But what will we do now?

"'Miklos believes they are still alive somewhere. He has been trying to restore the machines' conditions to what they were when the blast occurred, hoping either to bring them back with another blast or to send us after them. So far nothing has worked.

"'Perhaps we will simply have to forget about them and start our experiments anew. Now that we know what works, it should not be difficult to duplicate our triumph. And we have other corpses to attempt to bring back. Maybe, instead of abducting a Secret Service agent to attest to our practice of science, we should be more ambitious. We will abduct President Grant instead! With the agents missing, no one will be there to protect him.'"

Arte looked up with a sickened start. "Jim . . ."

Jim nodded, frowning. "You didn't read about anything like this happening to President Grant, did you, Arte?"

"No, I didn't," Arte admitted. "But if we have to consider the fact that in the past right now, Dr. Faustina and Miklos are alive, maybe they just haven't done it yet. We don't know how much time has passed in 1874 since we disappeared. Those two need time to build a new machine before they try to kidnap President Grant."

"Technically, it seems that no matter when they'd do it, we'd know about it here," Jim remarked. "Arte, wouldn't someone here have to go back to the past before it could be altered again in any way?"

Arte threw up his hands in despair. "That's what you'd think, alright," he said, "but I'm getting so turned around I don't know what's real anymore. How can we really say what the past is or isn't, or what the people there would be doing to affect the present, when there isn't any concrete information on time-travel and only countless, contradictory theories?"

"That's a good point," Jim said. "In any case, Arte, I recommend that we get back to the portal and try harder to work with it. Staying here isn't going to help."

"I thoroughly concur." Arte slipped the fragile piece of paper into a ZipLock bag and put it in his pocket. "There's some figures on this. They might be at least part of what Dr. Faustina used to calculate the electricity for her machines. And it's the only piece of paper here. Let's go home."

Jim hurried after him as he headed back for the escape hatch. "And is _home_ through the portal . . . or back to Los Angeles?" he wondered.

Arte paused. "You know, I'm not sure exactly what I meant. Now too, no matter where we stay, we'll be leaving friends behind in another place."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "It'll be strange, if we get back to 1874. Mr. Norman and Coley won't be coming, of course. I'll miss those evenings in the library."

"Oh yes." Arte resumed walking, but again soon slowed. "At least, we're assuming those two won't be coming. What if, when we get the portal open, it doesn't give Rodman a choice?"

"Then it probably wouldn't give Mr. Norman a choice, either," Jim returned.

"They'd be forced apart, each unable to live in a time contrary to his own." Arte frowned deeply. "Jim, considering Mr. Norman's state of mind, I wonder if he could stand that at this point."

"I don't know, Arte." Jim frowned too. "After bonding so strongly with Rodman, I'm not sure he could."

"That would be terrible," Arte said grimly, shaking his head. "He's made such excellent progress, judging from what we read in those articles about what he was like before. Coley seems to have been the one person who's been able to get through to him and help him where the doctors couldn't. I don't think he's at all ready to let Coley go, even though he's been trying to brace himself for the possibility that he might have to."

Jim could see the opening now, and vaguely hear the two conversing as the late afternoon light began to wane. "To lose Rodman now might set him back enough that he would completely lose his mind," he remarked. He could envision Ray panicking and trying desperately to follow Coley through the portal, only for it to reject him.

"And even if Rodman wouldn't be affected to that extent, I know he'd be upset too," said Arte. "He decided long ago that he'd be staying here, and Mr. Norman was a large part of that decision."

Jim looked thoughtful. "Let's just hope and pray that there was a meaning to all of this—to coming here, to those two meeting—and that God or fate or whatever won't be so cruel as to tear it all down."

Arte nodded in firm, worried agreement.

xxxx

Pinto was standing with Lucrece on top of the hill as twilight approached the desert. "Weird to be back here, isn't it?" he mused, embracing her from behind.

She nodded. "It's all so different. This area was home once, but it isn't anymore. I wouldn't want to live here now."

"We wouldn't have any peace anyway, living in a museum."

"Justice must be a tourist trap now," Lucrece said in displeasure.

"Probably a catch-all for ghost-hunters and oddballs like that, too," Pinto decided.

Lucrece was amused. Pinto was certainly adapting well to this time period. He had been picking up modern colloquial expressions ever since their arrival.

He laughed now. "Just imagine it—a pack of ghost-busters setting up shop in the museum, maybe hopin' to bag themselves a crooked ghost or two. Maybe even us! But we're still alive and well, so all they'd do is scare themselves all night."

Lucrece smirked. "It would serve them right for intruding in our house and expecting we wouldn't have anything better to do than to haunt them."

Pinto kissed her and she relaxed into his arms. In the increasing darkness, and with the modern electricity and expansion of Justice, the town's lights could be seen in the distance.

"West and Gordon are coming up now," he noted. The footsteps inside the hollow hill were very audible.

"Good. It's about time we were getting back." Lucrece stepped away from Pinto, glancing at the opening on the side of the hill as the agents emerged.

"Well, I picked up some possibly helpful figures, but aside from that paper there's definitely nothing to see down there," Arte announced. "No portal at least."

"As we told you some time ago," Lucrece remarked.

Arte jumped a mile. "What are you two doing up there?" he exclaimed, squinting at their silhouettes.

"Admiring the horizon," Lucrece said half-sarcastically, nodding to the twinkling lights.

Jim and Arte turned to look themselves. "It is amazing," Arte breathed in all sincerity. "Look at that, Jim! Who'd ever think Justice would grow like that?"

"I wonder who runs it now," Jim mused.

"Well . . ." Arte gave an uneasy smile. "That would be another Cord. It seems that law-enforcement stayed in the family."

Coley snickered from somewhere behind him. "Let's hope the idiocy didn't."

"Rodman!" Arte spun around. Coley was leaning with his arms crossed on one of the wings of the plane. Ray was standing near him, resting a hand on its support beam.

"Maybe you still won't admit that you think the first Sheriff Cord was an idiot, Gordon, but you and West are thinking it all the same." Coley pushed away from the wing.

"We are?" Jim intoned.

Arte looked to Jim with an apologetic smile. "It's a . . . conversation we started back in 1874," he said. "Rodman said I wouldn't agree with him aloud because I wouldn't want to badmouth another law-enforcement officer around a criminal."

Jim remained deadpan. "And?"

Arte chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose I didn't."

"Well, nevermind all that," Pinto drawled. "Are we getting out of here now? That pilot must be awfully antsy."

"We're going," Arte agreed. "Come on, everyone."

He let the others go in ahead of him. As he prepared to climb in as well, he gripped the railing and glanced back, first to the hill and then to the lights in the distance.

Everything certainly was different. The desert looked about the same, but even it had a different feeling now that Arte was examining it from another perspective. It was strange, perhaps melancholy. This area had never been home to him, but to leave it felt as though he was leaving his own time behind.

"Arte?"

He started and looked up at Jim's voice. "Yes, James?"

"Are you coming?"

Arte nodded and stepped into the airplane. "I'm coming," he promised.

xxxx

It was late by the time they reached Los Angeles again. Ray was relieved to be back in the city; perhaps he had also felt removed from the present-day in the desert. The bright lights signified home to him.

And, Coley realized, home to _him,_ as well. He did not want to go back to 1874, except to visit his mother. He had no longer had any doubts, but this day-trip had reinforced his feelings. He had settled into 2012 and it was where he belonged.

Lucrece and Pinto departed at the airfield, hailing a cab. Not even bothering to suggest following them, Arte lingered with the others as they got into Ray's car to return to the golf club.

Conversation in the car was sparse. Perhaps everyone was thinking on what they had taken away from the experience. Or perhaps they were just exhausted.

Or perhaps both. When they arrived back at the golf club and headed inside, Ray could not control the heavy yawn. "I don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping tonight," he said. "And it looks like everything is still standing. It must have been a fairly average day, even without us."

Coley glanced at the marble counter. "There's some envelope here," he noted. "It must've come in the afternoon mail." He picked it up, looked it over, and tossed it at Arte. "It's to you and West."

"What?!" Arte caught the package and stared at it. "Who in the world would be sending anything to Jim and me?"

Jim peered at it. "I don't recognize the handwriting," he said. "We'll look at it in our room so we won't bother either of you." He nodded to Ray and Coley.

"No . . . maybe you should look at it here," Ray said in concern. "It might be bad news, especially since you can't figure out who would have sent it."

Arte held it up to his ear. "I don't think it's a bomb, at least." He tore off the packing tape and opened the flap. Several photographs and a note fell out.

Coley looked at the top picture. "Maybe not a bomb in the strictest sense of the word, but this looks like some kind of a bombshell to me."

Jim had grabbed the note and was reading through it. "You're right," he said. "This care package is from Snakes Tolliver. He says Florence's scientists have been making progress with the portal, and that if we don't want them to completely take it over, we'll have to stop them on the double."

Arte's jaw dropped. "It was sent Special Delivery just today," he noted, studying the envelope. He cast it aside and snatched one of the photographs. "This one shows a large rock apparently traveling through the portal. It's half-in and half-out!"

"And it was taken at night," Jim observed. "They must be working after dark so they won't be seen by the hikers."

Ray was wide awake now. "What are you going to do?" he gasped.

"Call Miss Posey," Jim said. "We'll have her and her gang come out here and join us. We'll have to get up to that mountain somehow and do just what Snakes says—stop them."

"There's no 'somehow'," Ray retorted. "I'll get hold of our helicopter pilot friend and drive all of you back to the airfield in the club's van."

"And I'll come with you too," Coley vowed.

Arte managed a smile. "Thank you both," he said. "Neither of you has to come, not when your place is here."

"It'll be dangerous," Jim said as he reached for the phone.

"We help our friends," Ray insisted. "We're coming."

Coley did not respond. He had the bad feeling that their conversation was being overheard, although he could not see anyone in the lobby.

He glanced around with narrowed eyes while Jim placed his call.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Lucrece was furious to hear Jim's news.

"Are you sure Snakes isn't crafting an elaborate trick?" she demanded. "Photographs can be altered, especially in this day and age."

"It could be a trick," Jim acknowledged. "But the pictures look genuine to all of us. My guess is that Snakes is either in trouble with Florence or is afraid of trouble with her and he wants to get us out there to solve the problem for him. And it wouldn't be something for us to get involved in, except for the fact that Florence's scientists probably actually _are_ figuring out the portal. If they work out all the pieces and claim it for themselves, we won't be able to get in there without a lot more difficulty. And I'm sure that isn't something you want."

"No, it isn't." Lucrece sounded highly displeased. "Alright, Mr. West. I'll tell the others and we'll be at the golf club as soon as possible. But we'll have to find out if Snakes' claims are genuine before we involve ourselves in this war."

"We should be able to tell from the air," Jim replied.

"Very well. Goodbye, Mr. West."

The phone clicked in Jim's ear. He took the receiver away and hung it on the cradle. "They're coming," he reported.

"Good," Arte sighed. "I hate to rely on them, but if there is trouble, they have a stake in this too. And if the portal can be opened, we might need to be prepared to send them through it and then go through ourselves."

Jim nodded. "Although I doubt that will happen. I'd rather not have to struggle with the gang right now in addition to Florence and her men."

Ray leaned on the counter. "Not I wouldn't like to see Pinto be thrown out, but wouldn't that be playing dirty, to have the gang there to help you and then try to trick them into going through the portal?" he frowned.

Arte looked to him. "I have to confess, Mr. Norman, I deliberately tricked some of the gang members into killing each other in the past. I doubt they've ever quite forgiven me for that." He leaned on the other side of the counter. "Being a secret agent means that sometimes you have to play just as dirty as the people you're fighting against."

"I couldn't do that," Ray said, shaking his head. "Not anymore."

"Hopefully it won't come to that tonight," said Arte. "But you realize that if we leave them here, they'll eventually try to start their criminal empire."

"I don't want them here," Ray said firmly. "I just don't like the idea of tricking them, especially under these circumstances."

"I'm sure they have the same thing in mind for us," Arte replied. "But we understand your feelings, Mr. Norman."

"We won't involve you in that part of our plan unless there's no other choice," Jim added.

Ray sighed. "Well, thank you for that, at least."

He looked to Coley. Still unable to find the eavesdropper, Coley was tense. He roamed the lobby and the surrounding rooms, gun in hand. Watching him was making Ray even tenser than he already was.

"If our spy has already heard about our plans, Everly might know by now," Ray worried.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," Coley said. "And I don't like the thought of him finding out about this. There's no telling what kind of plot he might have."

"Maybe he'd just decide to report everywhere that I'm still crazy and I'm associating with other crazy people," Ray sighed. "I don't know what else he could do."

Coley gazed around the room in annoyance. "Well, as long as we can't find the spy, there's not much _we_ can do," he said. "We have to get out of here and take care of this as soon as Posey and her people show up."

Jane hurried into the room, meowing in distress. Seeing Coley, she ran to him and rubbed against him in desperation.

"What's wrong?" Coley frowned. "Is Mrs. Featherstone hurt?"

Jane merowed and kept rubbing.

"If she wasn't so obviously upset, I'd say she's just glad to see you after the long day," Arte said.

Jane sat on Coley's foot, still making a _merow_ sound in her throat.

Coley holstered his gun and picked her up. "What's your deal?" he asked.

Jane stared at him, meowing piteously. She placed her front paws on his shoulders.

"Maybe she doesn't want you to leave again," Ray suggested.

Jane meowed louder, as if in confirmation, and burrowed against Coley.

He frowned, petting her. "It's not like I won't be back."

Jane yowled.

Coley sat down in a chair with her. "Look, I'll just be gone a few hours, if that. Don't make that sound." He stroked her head and Jane finally relaxed, peaceful in his arms.

Arte looked to Jim, somewhat uneasy. "They say animals have a sixth sense," he noted under his breath. "What if she somehow knows Rodman won't be back? If the portal opens and pulls him in, that might be it."

"We'll stay alert," Jim promised. "But maybe she's just been lonely without him."

"Yes, but I've never seen her act like that before," Arte told him.

Jim frowned slightly. It _was_ something to wonder about.

xxxx

Lucrece and the rest of the gang arrived within the hour and found the others ready to leave. She, Pinto, and Cyril stood in the doorway, surveying the scene in the lobby.

"Let's not waste any time," Lucrece said with a sweep of her dark cape. From the finality of her tone, she was very likely hoping to take care of the Snakes problem for good. Coley could not say he blamed her on that.

"We're going," Ray nodded, clutching the keys for the van in his hand.

Coley stood, setting Jane on the chair. "Go find Mrs. Featherstone," he told her. "We'll be back later."

Jane looked up at him with heartbroken green eyes. As he tried to move towards the door, she yowled and jumped down, rushing to get in front of it.

Cyril stumbled, nearly falling as he struggled to avoid tripping over her. "Why is she doing this?!" he cried.

"She really is being a nuisance," Pinto frowned, glowering at her.

"She's never done this before," Coley retorted. "Get out of the way."

Pinto shrugged, but turned and stepped over her on his way outside. "Come on, don't be held up by that cat," he said. "This thing with the portal is more important. Just step over her like I just did."

Coley ignored him and instead stood over Jane, his hands on his hips. "You know I have to go," he told her.

Jane meowed plaintively.

Coley crouched down, reaching out to pet her. "Maybe if I didn't know you I'd think you were just acting out," he said. "But you're not a drama queen, even when you want attention. You're dead serious. I don't know what you think is wrong, but I can't stay here and just let Ray go on and face this alone. You're nuts about him too, so you wouldn't want that, would you? Besides, I owe something to West and Gordon."

Jane let him pet her, but her eyes were still anguished. She leaned into his hand and placed a paw on his wrist, as if begging him to stay.

"If Snakes is lying, we'll know before we go down," Coley said. "It's probably some kind of a trap anyway, but he has no reason to want to hurt me.

"I'm coming back. I don't know when and I can't say that, but I can promise it's going to happen. This is my home now. Will you trust me?"

Jane gave a last, sad meow, but finally stepped aside.

Coley patted her head and straightened. "That's better."

Lucrece shook her head as she headed out the door. "You're almost unbelievably soft, Mr. Rodman," she said.

"I like to deal with people who aren't idiots," Coley returned, walking out with Ray. "She just happens to be a smart cat, so I don't mind dealing with her, either."

Arte glanced back at Jane as he and Jim followed them out. She hopped into the windowsill to watch them leave. When the door shut, she yowled again. Mrs. Featherstone appeared to try to calm her, but she could not be comforted.

Arte was chilled in spite of himself. "Jim," he said quietly, "I've heard heartbroken women cry and wail, but nothing I've ever heard sounds more grief-stricken than that little cat does right now."

Jim frowned. "We'll do all that we can to make sure she's just worrying unnecessarily, Arte," he determined.

"And bring him home," Arte added.

_I'm just praying we can succeed._

xxxx

The scene on the mountain, as they observed it from the helicopter, was just about what they had expected from Snakes' pictures. The scientists were clustered around the portal, beaming bright lights on it that were connected by a generator. Florence was standing by, checking a clipboard and a laptop in between looking up to observe their progress. Snakes was apart from the group, knocking his hands together against the cold and looking all-around nervous.

"It's funny they don't hear us approaching," Arte remarked.

"They would, if their machines weren't so loud," Ray frowned.

"Even so, they'll probably hear us at any time," said Jim. "Especially since helicopters stir up fierce winds as they get close." He threw out the rope ladder and started to descend.

Indeed, it was not long before Snakes and some of the others took occasion to look up as the snow began to blow in every direction.

"We've been spotted!" one of the scientists yelled.

Snakes tried to hide his smirk, but it was soon gone as Florence's voice rang out. "They've never come at night. Why are they coming now?"

Jim jumped to the ground halfway down the ladder, gun in hand. "We decided it was time to see what was happening here at night," he said.

"And with good reason," Arte echoed as he joined Jim. "We're not about to let the portal fall into your greedy hands."

Florence sneered at him. "But gentlemen, there's nothing you can do about that." She walked to her men, unconcerned of the guns trained on her. "It's already in our hands. And it's us, not you, who have started to unravel the mystery of how to unlock it. You can't afford to rid yourself of us."

"We can figure it out, the same as you have," Arte said. Behind him he could hear the others dropping down into the snow from the ladder. "We can't afford to let you continue your work with it."

"Do you know how we learned of your activities?" Lucrece said smoothly.

"Snakes, most likely," Florence replied.

"Who is conveniently trying to slip away now that he's pitted us against each other," Lucrece pointed out. She turned and fired at the escaping schemer. He dove into the snow in terror.

"We'll deal with him later," Florence said boredly. "Meanwhile, is this battle between us unavoidable?"

"I would say so, if you won't give up the portal quietly," said Arte.

"We aren't going to make a deal," Jim added.

Florence drew her own gun. "We won't accept those options either."

Someone fired in the general direction of Sergei. He responded by throwing two knives. A pained cry rang out from one of the scientists.

Within moments the sounds of gunshots echoed across the mountaintop and a full-scale shootout was underway. Some scientists fell, while others were wounded and remained standing. Sergei and Brutus were each eventually shot, but struggled to keep fighting.

Alarmed, Ray clutched the illegal gun from his desk and leaped behind the nearest tree. Coley joined him, firing at a scientist in the process.

"Have you ever even used a gun before?" he asked.

"No, I haven't," Ray confessed. "I knew I wouldn't be much use in this part of the disaster, if it came to that."

Mostly out of instinct he whirled at a sudden noise, catching a scientist prepared to fire at Coley. Ray fired first, hitting him in the arm. The weapon dropped.

Coley leaped out, delivering a knockout punch to their enemy. "I don't know, Ray," he said, looking back to the stunned man. "I'd say you're useful here."

Ray managed a weak smile, but still looked shaken.

Amid all the commotion, Snakes looked about furtively and then approached the portal, explosives in hand. No one was watching him, but bullets, knives, a lasso, and a weighted glove were flying in all directions. Snakes threw the explosives at the portal, ran, and fell to the ground farther away, waiting for the blast.

It never came. Bewildered, he rose up and looked to the device. The bomb was stuck half-in and half-out, just like the rock in the picture he had taken.

And he had no time to decide what to do next. A hand grabbed him from behind, hauling him roughly to his feet. He turned, finding himself facing an angry and sneering Little Pinto.

"Pinto," he gasped. "N-no. Please! Florence is wrong that I had anything to do with this. She sent those pictures and said they were from me."

"And why would she do that?" Pinto retorted.

"Ask her!" Snakes burst out. He gripped Pinto's wrists. "Just let me go, Pinto. Please just let me go!"

"If I do, you'll just come back and try to kill us again another day," Pinto said. "And I don't think I'm going to let that happen."

Snakes shoved him in a moment of panic, trying to send him against the portal. Maybe if he hit the bomb, it would detonate and kill him in the process.

But Pinto planted his feet and resisted. They struggled, even as Jim and one of the scientists punched and kicked each other nearby.

Jim all but flew overhead, narrowly missing a tree. Instead he hit the trunk with his feet and used it to propel himself back the other way. He tackled his astonished opponent to the snow.

Arte was still engaged in a shootout with two other scientists. A quick glance around showed him that almost everyone was fighting. Lucrece and Florence had started a one-on-one battle. Pinto was still grappling with Snakes.

The sight of the strange device stuck in the portal behind them sent Arte's heart leaping into his throat. But he had no chance to call out a warning to anyone; he had to turn his attention back to the gunfight.

Coley had stepped away from Ray, tensely examining the battle between Pinto and Snakes. If that bomb went off, who knew how much damage it could cause to the entire mountaintop and everyone on it? He wanted to get a good shot at Snakes, but it looked almost impossible. He might hit Pinto by accident, or worse—the portal. He did not want to make a mistake this time, as he had long ago in the past when he had tried to shoot Jim and had wounded Lafe instead.

Ray came out as well, studying the scene as his stomach turned over in knots. Where could he best help in this calamity? It looked like everyone had something to do.

"Maybe we could try distracting Snakes and Pinto to break up their fight," he suggested to Coley.

"Maybe, if we can get them to pay attention to something other than beating each other's brains in," Coley retorted. "Come on, let's see what we can do." He started to move ahead, expecting that Ray would be following.

Ray was given little choice in the matter. Without warning someone jumped him from behind. He fell back, struggling, fighting to force the stranger's arms from around his throat. When he succeeded at last, the other man caught hold of his coat, dragging him to the slanted ground. They tumbled, locked in their mortal combat. It only stopped when Ray managed to turn and slam the assailant into the snow, delivering a harsh punch at the same time.

The stranger was only dazed for a moment. He kicked out, throwing Ray backwards into the powder. Then, his face twisted in a gruesome sneer, he rose, spitting out the blood from his injured mouth. His gun clicked, pointed directly at Ray.

The strong lights on the mountain revealed his identity. "Jason Everly," Ray sputtered in horror. "I was afraid you'd find a way to show up."

"Yes, I was told by my spy, whom you still haven't found." Everly grinned wildly. "And naturally I couldn't have got here on my own as quick as this. I got to the airfield before you and stayed stowed away in the baggage compartment of your helicopter. Then I just waited for the right time to strike."

"There's more important things going on right now than your thirst for revenge," Ray retorted, angry. "Look at what's happening up there!"

"Oh yes, I know," Everly nodded sagely. "After I shoot you, maybe I'll blow up everything else here. You can die in the fire you fear so much. I'll relish watching it, even if I die in the blast too." He started to squeeze the trigger.

Suddenly another gunshot rang out. Everly went stiff, blood coming to his mouth. He fell forward into the snow, a bullet hole in his back.

Ray looked up with an amazed start. "Coley!" he cried.

Coley was standing above them, close to the portal, his gun cocked and smoking. "I've had more than enough of him," he snarled. "I should've done that the first time he showed up and started threatening you."

Ray got to his feet, still in shock over what was happening. "Coley . . . I . . ."

A weak sound brought them both to attention. Still alive, and fueled by hatred, Everly was painfully twisting around with his gun. "So," he hissed, "we meet to form that river of blood, don't we. Just like we promised."

"No!" Ray burst out. He started to lunge at the same moment Coley fired again.

Neither of them was fast enough. His eyes flaming, Everly's last act was to shoot the man who had destroyed his chance for revenge. And in doing so, Everly died creating a far worse revenge.

The lead tore through Coley's side. He hissed in pain, losing his balance and falling forward just as the bullet buried itself in the bomb behind him.

The explosion sent everyone flying in all directions. Some more of Florence's men were wounded. Some were killed.

Snakes, still locked in combat with Pinto, tried to fling him into the blast. When Pinto was completely knocked off his feet and vanished somewhere amid the debris, Snakes could not be found, either.

Lucrece turned sheet-white. _"Pinto!"_ she screamed.

Florence sneered at her from their position on the ground. "I knew he was your weakness, darling."

Lucrece's eyes burned. She viciously swiped at Florence before getting up and running towards the spot. Even Cyril, although he stopped and gazed in awe at the flames for one brief moment, turned and hurried after Lucrece, also honestly worried for Pinto.

Jim and Arte crashed into trees and equipment. For a moment they lay dazed, the anguished yells around them all that kept them from sinking into unconsciousness.

"Jim . . ." Arte choked out after a moment. "People are getting hurt. Not just our current enemies, but also the people we brought with us. Are you alright?"

"I will be in a minute," Jim answered, raising a hand to his forehead.

"Ohh . . ." Arte groaned, turning his head to the side. The screams were haunting. Lucrece and Cyril and the other gang members were calling for Pinto. Lucrece especially sounded like her heart was tearing in shreds.

"How stupid of me," Arte mumbled, mostly to himself. "I didn't see it when it was right in front of me."

Some of the scientists were calling to each other as well. And then there was Ray. . . .

Arte stiffened in horror. "Oh no," he whispered in sickened realization. Only one thing could make Ray react like that.

Coley fell down the mountain, crashing in a sprawled, pained heap at Ray's feet. The white snow instantly began to turn crimson.

Ray was instantly kneeling up at his side, horrified, shaking. "Coley?!" he cried. He gripped the tense shoulder, turning him onto his back.

Coley gasped in pain. "Hey . . ." Sparks from the exploding portal flew off his body, sizzling in the air. Blood was streaming down his face from a wound in his forehead.

Trembling, Ray took out a handkerchief and tried to gently pat it away. "Coley, you're going to be alright," he insisted. "I . . . I'll surely have to get you to a hospital this time, but you'll get better. _You __**will!**_"

Coley looked at him blearily. "I tried to beat the devil and I lost," he rasped. "You know it as well as I do. Maybe . . . maybe this is the only real fate that could come to someone like me. Deep down I knew it and I was running from it. I tried everything I could think of to stay alive, even teaming up with Gordon way back there. But it's finally caught up with me."

"No!" Ray retorted. "No, it isn't true." He trembled. "Maybe you started out just wanting to save yourself, back when you first joined forces with Mr. Gordon, but that hasn't been your motivation for a long time. You've protected people—and Jane, too—because you've come to honestly care about us. Coley, you saved my life from Jason Everly. He would have killed me if you hadn't been here and shot him!"

"He plugged me too," Coley grunted, indicating the blood from his side. "I'm out of practice with my gun."

"It just grazed you," Ray retorted. "It was the explosion and the fall that . . . that's really done you in. You were too close to the portal; you didn't have time to move farther away after you saw what was happening to me. . . ." He blinked desperately, agonized, willing the devastated tears to leave him. "Coley, please . . . please don't leave me."

He could see that Coley was dying, but he could not accept it. This could not be real. It could never be real. He had thought that if they were separated, it would be because of time. He had not seriously considered this outcome, even though it had occurred to him now and then.

"W-When you first came, I wanted you to stay because I was lonely and I wanted a friend—any friend—who understood suffering," he went on. "But I came to genuinely care about _you_. Even if I found someone else who understood, it would never be the same. I could never feel about someone else the way I feel about you."

Coley reached up with a shaking hand, gripping Ray's upper arm. "You'll have to go on without me now," he said quietly. "You can make it; you're stronger than you know."

"No!" Ray shot back. "We'll go on together. You'll get better and you'll stay in this time and everything will be alright."

Coley did not even have the strength to tell Ray it could not happen. But his quiet farewell spoke that fact to higher volumes than if he had detailed it in every particular. "Ray . . . sorry." He fell limp, his eyes fluttering closed and his hand slipping away from Ray's arm.

Ray stared at him for a long moment, still, not comprehending. Then suddenly he came to life, screaming, bending over his friend. "You're not dead! I won't let you die! I'll bring you back if I have to!" He pounded on Coley's chest and leaned down, applying artificial respiration. Over and over he repeated the process, without success.

_Oh God, don't take him. Please don't take him. Leave him here with me._

Jim and Arte, having at last righted themselves, limped down to witness the other scene in silent horror. They exchanged grim and downcast looks.

"Oh no," Arte whispered. "Jim . . ."

"He's gone," Jim realized.

This time there was no mistake, as there had been when Coley had been zapped away by the forming portal. Now they had a body—the motionless, limp body of a former criminal who had become their dear friend. And nearby, a body they recognized from newspaper photographs and television newscasts as Jason Everly's.

"It's easy enough to tell what happened here," Jim said.

"Snakes was going to destroy the portal," Arte said softly. "Coley was trying to stop him."

"Even though he wanted to stay here," Jim added.

"And then, as near I can figure, Everly must have shown up trying to kill Mr. Norman and Coley wouldn't have any of that." Arte removed his hat. "He was so much more than we thought in the very beginning. And he died a noble and brave man."

Jim nodded sadly.

Nothing Ray did managed to garner a response. For the last time he leaned back, desperate, praying for an answer. "Coley, please," he whispered. "Speak to me. Tell me you're not dead. Tell me you're alright. Please . . ."

Only lifeless silence met him. And the final realization that his beloved friend was gone seemed to shatter Ray's fragile mind. He gathered the body into his arms, supporting the limp neck as he slowly rocked back and forth, gazing emptily into the distance.

"Oh Jim . . ." Arte looked to his best friend and partner. "What are we going to do? This is what I was afraid of, but it's even worse than I thought. What's going to happen to Mr. Norman now?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know."

"Coley meant everything to him," Arte said sadly.

Jim nodded. "And he wouldn't want to see Norman give up on life." They were both afraid that could easily happen now.

Jim approached Ray carefully. "Mr. Norman?"

Ray did not answer. Jim grabbed his shoulder. "Mr. Norman!"

Ray started out of his mind. He clutched the body protectively, as though certain that it was going to be taken from him before he was ready and able to let go.

Jim made no motion to do so. "He's gone, Mr. Norman," he said quietly. "He would want you to move on."

"He's the only person I've cared about in years," Ray said, his voice soft but breaking all the same. "I understood how he once felt, saying he only cared about himself, because I behaved the same way. Maybe it was never expressly true about either of us in actuality, but we both changed for the better nevertheless. We realized we cared and we acknowledged it. Right now, he didn't have any intention of dying. All he wanted was to save me and to help you and stop Snakes. Now he's gone."

"He didn't mean to or want to go," Jim said. "As you said yourself."

Ray's face contorted in anguish. He looked away.

Arte knelt down next to them, reaching for Coley's limp hand, desperate and hoping against hope. But there was no pulse, either in his wrist or his neck. His chest was still.

Ray barely even seemed to notice Arte's presence. Arte straightened, looking to Jim in sickened, saddened regret.

"Jane knew," he said quietly after a moment. "She knew something would go wrong and Coley would never come back. That was why she acted so distraught and didn't want him to leave." He shook his head. "Oh, that cat's yowl when we left is going to keep ringing in my ears."

Jim nodded. "And I hate to think what it'll do to Mr. Norman."

Ray had slipped back into silence, again rocking back and forth with the body of his friend. Jim and Arte stood by with bowed heads, not sure how to end the dark moment and grieving as well.

Without warning Coley groaned and gasped for breath, his eyes flying open. Ray went rigid, feeling the movement in his arms. It was all he had wanted, all he had prayed for. But when he looked to Coley, his heart gathering speed, all words and thoughts fled his mind.

"Ray?!" Coley rasped. "Ray, for Pete's sake, say something!"

"I can't," Ray choked out. "You can't be talking to me. You're dead. I couldn't bring you back." He stared at Coley. "But you came back anyway. Oh, thank God, dear God, you came back!" He drew Coley into a firm and joyous embrace.

Now it was Coley stiffening, not sure what to make of this. He was not used to such affection. But at last, slowly he returned the gesture, embracing Ray in turn.

"I was dead?" he whispered, sounding disturbed.

Ray trembled. "It was horrible," he said weakly.

Coley fell silent, considering that information. "Maybe . . . maybe you were right," he said at last. "Maybe there is another future for someone like me."

"There is," Ray said emphatically. "The fact that you came back proves it. You have a future with me and with Jane and with the golf club."

"Jane . . ." Coley cringed. "That poor cat must be going crazy back home, the way she was carrying on."

Ray nodded. "Just like I was when I thought . . ." He shuddered. "Oh, nevermind. I don't want to talk about it. You're alive." He shut his eyes tightly. "Let's leave it at that."

"That's fine with me," Coley said, still seeming dazed. It was hard to tell if it was from his injuries or from Ray's information.

Arte was still staring. "Jim, how?" he gasped. "He _was_ dead. Coley Rodman was _dead!_ I checked him myself. And now he's as alive as you or I."

Jim looked thoughtful as he placed one hand over the other. "There's always the chance that you and Mr. Norman were wrong, Arte," he said. "Maybe his breathing and heartbeat were so weak you just couldn't feel them."

"I suppose that's possible," Arte said slowly, although he clearly did not believe it.

"In any case," Jim went on, "I'd say that there's still a lot we have to learn about life and death. Even if he wasn't dead, he was badly hurt enough to seem like it. And it wasn't science that brought him back."

"Hallelujah," Arte said softly.

xxxx

Pinto was laying on his back in the snow, still and cold—his clothes torn and his skin pale. Lucrece fell to her knees beside him, a wild mess from her fight with Florence, but she paid no heed to herself. It had taken far too long to find him, lost in this sea of white. If he was not dead from the explosion, the exposure certainly could have done it.

"Pinto!" she choked out. "Pinto, no. Wake up!"

She touched his cheek, her hand shaking. She was a hard, fierce woman, dangerous and deadly. She had not allowed herself to feel love towards anyone in years. She had not even known she was still capable of it. But her heart was shattering and she could feel unfamiliar pricks in her eyes.

"You can't leave me!" she protested. "Not again."

She bent over him, desperate, pressing her ear against his chest. Was there a heartbeat? Was he breathing? She was not even sure. Maybe the cold was affecting her judgment.

She rose again, taking his hand in hers and frantically rubbing, trying to generate both warmth and movement. Cyril, stumbling to kneel beside her, began to light matches.

"Don't just do that," she barked. "Start a proper fire!"

Cyril started to get up again, dazed and worried, scrambling for firewood. The other board members, some wounded but all alive, began to make their way down the mountainside towards them.

"Is he alive?!" Brutus called.

"I don't . . . _yes,_ he's alive!" Lucrece snapped. She would not believe anything else.

"Miss Posey?" That was Artemus Gordon's voice now. "Snakes blew up the portal. We're still not sure what kind of condition it's in. And there's no trace of either Snakes or Florence. They could have been blown to pieces in the blast or they could have got away. We thought we'd lost Coley, but he's alive. What about Pinto?"

Lucrece was about to reply when Pinto stirred, his eyes weakly opening halfway. He smiled as he looked up at her. "You're beautiful," he rasped.

"You're going blind," Lucrece retorted, the words catching in her throat. Her hair was a complete, static disaster. Her clothes were torn and her makeup was running and smudged.

Pinto reached up, brushing some of the loose mascara away. "Nope."

And Lucrece's restraint broke. She flew at him, screaming at him for scaring her as she clutched him close to her heart. The tears were hopelessly falling. Pinto let her yell until he had enough strength to kiss her. She returned it, desperate, joyous, still shaking from the close call. She was not even going to pretend it was from the cold.

"He's alive, Mr. Gordon!" Brutus called to Arte. "We are all alive."

Arte was close enough now that he could look down the other side of the mountain and see them. Turning, he looked back to the others. Jim and Ray had placed Coley's arms on their shoulders and had helped him up to where they were now.

"We're all alive," Arte whispered, awed and overjoyed. "We made it."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Coley badly wanted to get off the mountain and go to bed. Ray badly wanted to see that it happened. But Coley insisted that they should not leave without first having some idea of whether the portal was even still there, since the entire purpose of their coming had been to reclaim the portal from Florence. And, reluctantly, Arte concurred.

That was why he was currently examining the area of the portal, while Ray sat in the nearby snow and allowed Coley to rest, his wounds bandaged and his head on Ray's lap.

Coley's eyes were closed, but he was awake. Ray worried that he might have a concussion and should not go back to sleep. Coley was not pleased, but so far he had not had any struggles with dozing.

"Well?" he mumbled impatiently after several moments. "What's going on?"

Ray shook his head. It still felt almost unreal to hear Coley speak, after that treacherous stretch of time when he had seemed, for all accounts and purposes, dead.

"Mr. Gordon's still checking," he said. "I think the portal is still there; something's sparking."

"It's definitely still here," Arte called back. "And still stubborn. But . . . hello, what's this?" He suddenly fell forward. "There's a hole right here in the center! My arm just slipped through."

Coley opened his eyes. "But it's not trying to pull you in?" he asked in amazement.

Arte righted himself, pushing on the barrier with his free hand. "No, not at all," he breathed. His arm came free and he stepped back to examine it. "I'm just fine. It was as though I simply starting falling through a hole in any normal wall."

Jim examined Arte's arm too, lifting it up to the flashlight Gallito was holding to make sure there was no damage. "You're right, Arte," he said then. "You're just fine."

Arte leaned forward, peering through the hole without starting to fall this time. "Incredible," he gasped. "I can see what's on the other side when I get up close. And it seems to be Justice, circa 1874!"

"How can you tell?" Jim wondered.

"Because it's right on top of that blasted hill," Arte said. "I recognize the lightning rod. And off in the far distance I see what looks like a few vague lights from candles and kerosene lamps, swaying in the wind."

"That sounds weird," Coley mumbled.

"It's fascinating," Arte declared. "Nothing like what we saw earlier tonight in modern-day Justice, but fascinating all the same. I hate to say it, but I think Snakes did us a favor. Now we know what's on the other side of the portal _and_ we know that it doesn't seem to be hungry for us misplaced souls. Maybe, if I can force it open the rest of the way, we could even pass back and forth as we please."

That got Coley's attention enough that he tried to sit up. "Then . . . I could visit my mother sometimes?" He stared at the portal. He had not thought such a thing would ever really be possible, even though he had hoped.

"I think you could," Arte nodded. "But then again, who knows; maybe it snaps together like a giant clam once people go through it. I'll need to run some tests before I know if it's safe for anyone to go through who wants to come back here."

"Let us know as soon as you learn anything," Lucrece said, or rather demanded. She, like Ray, was in the snow, tending to Pinto. And Pinto, although truly injured, seemed to be relishing the attention a great deal.

"Of course, Miss Posey," Arte nodded. "We will."

"What about Snakes?" she queried with a dark frown. Snakes had nearly killed Pinto with his wild stunt of setting the bomb. And naturally, Snakes had hoped he would. Lucrece would not forgive him for that.

Arte sighed. "On that, I'm just not sure." He turned, gesturing to the snow and debris all around them. "We've found fragments of what could be his hat, but that's all."

"The stupid fool," Lucrece muttered. "He was so panic-stricken about getting rid of us before we could do likewise to him, but he might have liquidated himself instead of any of us." She was too angry to find it morbidly, darkly amusing at the moment, albeit she likely might later.

"I wouldn't count on him being dead," Jim spoke.

"We won't," Lucrece returned.

"And Florence, too," Arte added. "I can't find any trace of her. One thing I am wondering, however." He surveyed the mountaintop in a bit of overwhelmed dismay. "I really don't know what we're going to do with all of these bodies. It will start quite an investigation if some poor, unsuspecting hikers find them here in the morning."

"I don't think we'll have to worry about that, Arte," Jim said. He was eyeing one of the still-living scientists, who was using his satellite phone to contact someone. "They'll probably all be off the mountain within an hour."

Ray nodded. "They won't want a scandal any more than we do."

Coley sighed. "And there's one other loose end," he said darkly. "Everly's spy."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "We'll find him," he vowed. "When we get back to the club, I won't leave any stone unturned. Whoever sent Everly out here is almost as guilty for what happened to you as Everly is."

"Please don't take any chances, Mr. Norman," Arte said in concern.

Coley gripped Ray's wrist. "I don't want you to get hurt any more than you'd want it from me," he said.

"I'll be alright," Ray vowed. "But I can't accept what happened here without trying to bring the spy to justice."

Arte still looked worried, but he nodded. "I understand, Mr. Norman. Jim and I will help you look when we get back."

"Ideally, we should be off the mountain before Florence's outfit gets here," said Jim. "Otherwise, we might all be taken prisoner."

Ray took out his radio. "I'll send for the helicopter to come back right now."

"One question, _amigos_," Gallito spoke. "Will we have problems escorting the wounded into the helicopter?"

"I hope not," Arte frowned. "We've never had it land, Mr. Norman, but can it?"

Ray looked the mountain over, contemplating the issue. "I think there's room," he said at last. "We'll ask the pilot. And if he can't land, well . . . we'll think of something." He spoke firmly, determined. He would not allow Coley to be hurt any further.

xxxx

It _was_ difficult, for the pilot to find a spot to land. And he could only stare with disbelieving horror at the scene of broken lights and bodies and assorted junk strewn all over the mountaintop. But he _did_ manage to land, and everyone began to troop towards the helicopter, helping their wounded.

"What _happened_ here?!" the pilot gasped when they were close enough to hear. "What about all those people?!"

"_Their_ people will be picking them up," Jim intoned.

Once they were airborne, Lucrece looked to Ray. "You don't by any chance have a doctor working at your golf club, do you?" she queried. "Several of my board members need medical attention, but we would prefer not to attract further notoriety by going to a hospital." She gripped Pinto's hand as she spoke, but overall she seemed to be doing so subconsciously. He rested on a mat, looking up at her in silence.

Ray sighed. "There's a couple of doctors," he said. "But they would have to report bullet wounds just the same as any other legitimate physicians."

Lucrece shrugged. "There would still be less people to see us."

"That's true," Ray conceded.

"It is just a flesh wound," Sergei grumbled.

"I could see if one of the doctors is available," Ray said. "But we still don't know who Everly's spy is. For all we know, it could even be one of them."

"And I wouldn't put it past him to sell all of you out to the press if he could," Coley added. "Whoever he is."

Lucrece looked displeased. "You have a point." She weighed the problem in her mind. Finally, apparently feeling that the thought of Everly's mercenaries was worse than any other possibility, she said, "Nevermind then. We'll work something else out."

xxxx

The next hours were long, filled with thoughts and questions and an eventual, grudging trip to Rampart Emergency Hospital. The doctors were skilled and knowledgeable, taking out the bullets from Sergei and Brutus and extensively examining both Pinto and Coley. Both men were badly shaken and bruised, and the victims of painful head injuries, but the tests showed no signs of swelling or fractures.

Despite wanting to keep the latter two for observation, the doctors were finally, very reluctantly willing to release them into Lucrece's and Ray's care, provided they were watched extremely closely and the hospital was notified of any changes in their conditions. Relieved and exhausted, the groups headed back to the van and out of the parking lot.

They still had to take Everly's body to the police and explain what had happened. Telling what they had been doing on top of a snowy mountain at night was not going to be easy; they would need time to think of a good cover story. But after getting brief statements from them, Lieutenant Anderson was willing to wait until the next morning for the full statements. He believed what they said had happened about Everly ambushing them, albeit he certainly did wonder at the location.

"Well," Arte said as Ray drove through the city streets, "are you willing to let us drop you off at your home tonight, Miss Posey?"

Lucrece let out her breath in weary, resigned exasperation. "Once you have the portal completely open, you'll come after us to have us go back," she said.

"You wouldn't expect anything else from us," Jim replied.

"No. But if it is as Mr. Gordon says, and the portal remains open, we could pass back and forth at will," Lucrece said with a tired smirk.

"You could," Arte agreed. "Only you'll all be in jail, where you belong."

"We'd never get out," Lucrece said, playing up a sympathetic tone. "Some of us might even be killed."

"Well, that's the price you pay for the lives you've chosen," Arte said.

"You're hoping to have immunity granted to Mr. Rodman," Lucrece pointed out.

"Yes, because we trust him," Arte returned. "He wants to make something of himself, to lead an honest life. And I'm sorry, Miss Posey, but I don't think you or your . . . _board members_ are willing or ready to do that."

"Perhaps you could say that they've already paid for their crimes?" Lucrece purred. "Since they were all killed by you and Mr. West and remained dead for several years?"

"There's still a warrant out on your arrest," Jim spoke. "You weren't killed."

Lucrece glowered at him, her sweet façade gone. "Alright, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon. I can see there's no point in negotiating with either of you. No, you may not leave us at our house." She looked to the residential street Ray was nearing. Recognizing it, she reached for the door handle. "Let us out here. We'll walk the rest of the way home."

"Are you sure Pinto can make it that far?" Arte wondered.

"Cyril and Gallito will help him," Lucrece returned. She drew her gun, pointing it at Arte. "Do we have a deal?"

Arte winced. "I'm afraid the lady doesn't give us much choice at the moment. Yes, Mr. Norman, pull over."

Concerned, Ray stopped at the curb. Brutus slid open the van door and stepped out, then waited for the others. Lucrece was the last to alight, keeping her gun trained on Arte all the while.

"Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen," she said calmly, smoothly. "Perhaps we'll meet again sometime."

"Count on it," Jim said.

They watched as the gang limped off down the street, with Pinto being supported by Cyril and Gallito. Before long they rounded a corner and were out of sight.

Arte sighed. "What do you want to bet that they'll clear out of wherever they are and find another place, far from here?"

"I wouldn't take that bet," Jim replied. "You'd win. Miss Posey knows very well that it wouldn't take us long to find their house, if we questioned a few neighbors and went from door-to-door. They must be staying nearby."

"Well . . ." Arte leaned tiredly against the inside of the door. "Shall we go after them before they can manage to get away?"

Ray looked back with a start. "Please don't," he implored. "Not now. I need to get Coley home. And if anything should go wrong with your encounter . . ."

Jim met his worried gaze. "Don't worry, Mr. Norman," he promised. "We won't endanger Coley any further."

Arte nodded. "The gang's exhausted, but they still have fight left in them. I can just imagine Miss Posey fighting to the death, shooting at both of us." He ran a hand over his face. "Pinto's hurt and she loves him, and I'll probably hate myself for this in the morning, but I guess I just don't feel like playing dirty tonight. Besides, we really should get the portal working first."

"We can catch up to them again later," Jim agreed. "They can't hide indefinitely."

Ray relaxed, beginning to smile. "Then let's go home," he said, starting the engine.

Arte sat up straighter. "Yes," he agreed. "Home."

xxxx

Jane was still wide awake when the van rolled into the parking lot. She perked up, her eyes alert and round and gleaming in the night. She had been sitting at the window all evening, refusing to be coaxed or consoled to come away.

Mrs. Featherstone, worriedly knitting at her kitchenette table, looked over at her beloved pet. "What is it, Jane? Are they back?"

Jane meowed, pawing at the cabin window.

Setting her craft aside, Mrs. Featherstone got up and hurried over to see. "That is them, isn't it?" she breathed. "Who else would be coming in at this time of the night?" She unlatched and opened the door and Jane scurried out, meowing for the quartet.

She rounded a corner and then stopped, staring at them. Upon seeing Coley supported by both Ray and Jim, and looking pale and weak, she yowled—a knowing, mournful cry.

Ray was quick to speak. "No, Jane, no," he tried to assure her. "He's alive."

Coley looked up blearily. "Jane," he called, his voice weak. "I promised I'd come home. Remember? I'm going to be fine."

The change that came over the cat was visible. Her eyes lit up with sheer joy and she ran the rest of the way to them, meowing and purring and rubbing against Coley.

"Hey," Coley scolded, "wait until we get in the place." But he was fondly smiling and watching her.

Arte bent and lifted her up. "Coley," he said, seeing Mrs. Featherstone approaching out of the corner of his eye, "I have a feeling that you're going to have a little silver shadow until you're well again."

Coley smirked, reaching with a hand to pat Jane's head. "You're probably right, Gordon." Jane grabbed his hand between her front paws, still purring. "Yeah, you're probably right."

xxxx

Twenty minutes later, explanations had been given, a tearful and horrified Mrs. Featherstone had pronounced her blessing for Jane to watch over Coley, and Coley had been helped into other clothes and was resting in bed. Ray was beside him on a chair. Jane was purring at the foot of the bed, giving Coley space since he was hurt.

"You can sleep, you know," Coley told Ray. "Jane would wake you up if anything went wrong. Not that I think it will."

Ray sighed. "I know, but I'll feel better if I personally make sure." He clenched a fist. "Everly was _my_ enemy, _my_ problem, and he had to go and do this to you."

"He wanted to kill you," Coley answered. "That made him _my_ enemy and problem too."

He fell silent but looked troubled. "Ray," he said at last, "I know you said you didn't want to talk about . . . _it,_ but I need to, just for a minute." He turned to his friend. "You really, honestly thought I was dead?"

Ray looked down. "Yes," he choked out. "You looked dead. And I couldn't find any signs of life. Coley . . ." He met the other's unsettled gaze. "You don't have any memory of it at all?"

"No, I don't." Coley frowned, studying the bedspread. "I know you said that you thought you remembered being out of your body, staring down at it . . ." He shuddered. "I don't remember anything like that. It's just a blank, like I was in a deep sleep."

"What about when you woke up?"

"It was like that. Waking up, I mean. Like I was coming out of a deep sleep. Except for one thing." Coley paused. "It felt like the air was being pushed into me. I don't get that. That's how I woke up, really; suddenly this air was being pushed down and it broke into that deep sleep. I choked on it and came to."

Ray swallowed hard. "Well, I tried to use artificial respiration on you, and that's basically what that does. But you weren't responding to it."

"Artificial respiration? That's where somebody puts his mouth over the other guy's mouth and breathes into him like a paper bag." Coley looked vaguely creeped out.

Ray weakly chuckled. "It's saved a lot of lives." Sobering, he continued, "But I don't know how it could have saved yours."

". . . I guess in the end it doesn't matter much _how_ it happened," Coley said at last. "I sure can't figure it out." He gazed off into the distance. "But I can't help wondering if I was really dead."

Ray paused, thinking over his response. "It still disturbs me when I remember those moments in the park," he admitted. "I . . . I didn't even realize I had such an intense fear of death until after Portman brought me back to life and I had those bits of memory from being out of my body.

"I'd like to say you're lucky you don't remember. Or maybe you weren't dead, somehow, some way, and you were just deeply unconscious.

"Maybe you'd rather know, although I'm not sure how you ever could. And I don't even like to think about it. I came so close to losing you tonight. . . ." Ray swallowed hard.

". . . We're probably _both_ going to have nightmares over this, aren't we," Coley deduced.

"I'm afraid we might," Ray acknowledged. "But this time I'm going to take a new approach. I guess it's one I haven't taken before, because in the past I was dreaming about things that really happened. Tonight you're alive and well, so if either of us dream that you aren't . . ." He laid his hand on Coley's shoulder. "I'm going to wake up giving thanks that it was just a dream."

Jane meowed in agreement.

Coley smiled. "That works for me."

The sound of voices in the hall directly outside made him sit up straighter and frown at the door. "What's going on out there?" he wondered. "It sounds like West and Gordon talking to Mrs. Featherstone."

Ray got up, crossing to the door in bewilderment. "She said it was alright for Jane to stay here tonight," he said. "But she acted so strange about what happened to you. The way she kept repeating 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' almost made it seem like . . ." He trailed off, reaching for the handle.

"Like she felt guilty for it," Coley summed up.

Ray glanced back at him. "In a word, yes. And that doesn't make sense." He opened the door.

Mrs. Featherstone, along with Jim and Arte, all looked over at him. "Oh, Mr. Rodman wasn't asleep yet, was he?" Mrs. Featherstone exclaimed, twisting her pearls in her hands.

"No, he wasn't, Mrs. Featherstone." Ray leaned on the doorframe. "But we're both somewhat puzzled. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"That's just what we were asking," Arte said. "We were going to our room here when we saw Mrs. Featherstone come in."

"And she hasn't really given us an answer as to why she's here," Jim added.

The woman looked down. "I came to confess the truth," she said. "But it's something Mr. Rodman should hear too."

"Then come in and tell it," Coley said, bewilderment and impatience tingeing his voice.

Ray stepped aside to allow Mrs. Featherstone entry. Jim and Arte followed behind her, Arte shutting the door after them.

Coley looked at her hard. "Are you Everly's spy?" he asked point-blank.

She flinched. "No!" she said with emphasis.

"I don't know why you'd feel so guilty then," Coley returned.

Ray regarded both of them in stunned shock. "The thought never even crossed my mind," he gasped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Featherstone. I . . ."

"No." Mrs. Featherstone looked to him, sadly. "_I'm _sorry, Mr. Norman. I'm not Jason's spy, but . . . when I first came here, that _is_ what I was supposed to be."

Now everyone was staring. "What?!" Arte cried.

"What changed your mind?" Jim wanted to know.

Mrs. Featherstone's expression was firm and final. "Just being here," she said. "Jason was a neighbor back East. I thought he was a good man and my heart went out to him after that blackmail business started. When he came to me months ago and asked me to come here and spy for him, I agreed—but only because I thought someone as wicked as his blackmailer could never change and must surely be up to his old tricks. I wanted to stop him from hurting anyone else as he'd hurt Jason."

She laid a hand on Ray's arm. "But I was wrong, Mr. Norman. When I came here and met you, and started watching you from day to day, I saw I was terribly, unforgivably wrong. And oh, Jane loved you so, even going to your office and wanting to be with you. . . ." She shook her head. "I told Jason I just couldn't do it, that he was wrong and you were a good man now, and that he needed to get on with his life."

"But he wouldn't," Coley said darkly.

"No, he wouldn't." Mrs. Featherstone walked to the bed, reaching to pet Jane. "He told me he would get someone else, someone who would do anything he wanted just for the money. He wouldn't tell me who. He figured I'd go right to Mr. Norman with the information. And he was right; I would have. He even changed his phone number, the only way I'd had of reaching him, because he was afraid I'd give you that."

"Do you know if he was the one making those anonymous phone calls?" Coley wanted to know.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'm afraid I wouldn't put it past him."

"And you're a pretty good actress, to pretend not to know Everly personally after he busted in threatening to shoot Jane," Coley went on.

"I should have told everything then," she said with regret. "I didn't because he called me from a payphone and said he really would have Jane killed if I said anything. He promised he would have his spy sneak in and do it. He sounded so wild that I believed him."

"I'm sure he meant it," Ray said angrily.

She looked back to Ray. "I still don't know who his spy is. But somehow, I still feel responsible for all of this. Maybe, if I'd just kept quiet and not told Jason anything, he wouldn't have hired someone else and Mr. Rodman wouldn't have almost died tonight!"

Ray stared at her, still trying to collect all of his thoughts together. "Mrs. Featherstone, I don't blame you," he said at last. "If anything, I . . . I'm touched that you changed your mind. You came into this situation with a specific set of ideas about me. Some people would have refused to believe the truth because of their anger and bitterness. But you were willing to see that things were different than you thought."

Mrs. Featherstone stared up at him, the tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Norman. . . ." Her voice caught in her throat. "I was coming to tell everything and to say that I would be willing to leave if you and Mr. Rodman wanted. And I . . . I'd even l-leave Jane here with you, because I knew she would be so heartbroken without you both. . . ."

Coley frowned, looking to the cat. She meowed in protest.

"She'd be heartbroken without you, too," he said. "You're a package deal. We get one, we get the other."

"That's right." Ray placed his hands on her shoulders. "Mrs. Featherstone, we both want you to stay. And I know what that cat means to you. I'd never accept parting you from her."

Mrs. Featherstone shut her eyes tightly. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Norman," she whispered, overcome. "Thank you."

"It still leaves us with the problem of who's the real enemy around here," Arte said quietly. "Jim, maybe we'd better go look around again and see where the staff is right now."

The door abruptly opened. "The one you want, Mr. Gordon," a young woman said darkly, "is me."

Everyone looked over with a start. "Mabel!" Ray exclaimed.

His often-absent receptionist smirked at him as she held up her gun. "That's right. It's been me ever since that chatty old woman refused to keep helping. And I convinced one of the security guards to go along with me. We were both going to get a handsome fee."

Coley started to throw back the covers, tense and concerned. But then he grimaced and slumped into the mattress as pain shot through his side. He could not put any additional stress on it right now. Instead he waited for a good moment to grab his gun.

"But Everly's dead now," Ray said. "What's the point of this?"

"It may not be the bundle we wanted, but we'll take whatever you have," Mabel replied. "He's disabled all the cameras in the control room. The video feeds are all displaying the uneventful last six hours. No one will know the truth until we're long gone."

"You're forgetting we're all here and can talk," Arte said. "There's five of us . . ." Jane meowed. "_Six_ of us and one of you."

"We'll take care of that," Mabel said calmly. "Once you're all dead, we'll make it look like Mr. Norman lost his mind, killed all of you, the cat too, and finally himself. The police will buy it. After all, it's been so highly publicized that Mr. Norman was insane and may still be."

"But he wasn't ever violent," Coley snarled. "The police wouldn't believe he turned into a killing maniac."

"Even if they don't, it will buy us some time to get away," said Mabel.

Ray's eyes burned. "You're not going to get the chance!"

Jane hissed in agreement and leaped off the bed at the same moment Coley snatched his gun. Distracted, Mabel looked to them with a start. Ray grabbed her wrist, wrenching it into the air.

Mrs. Featherstone seized a chair. "I won't let you hurt any of these people!" she vowed.

Jim glanced at the scene and then to the window. "She's supposed to distract us, Arte," he realized. "Her partner is coming in the back way."

"Of course!" Arte cried. He watched as Jim ran forward to meet the surprised security guard. Arte hurried over too, ready to help.

Coley looked to them. "You!" he snarled, catching sight of one of the moderately helpful guards.

The crooked man only had that brief look at the group before Jim tackled him out the window and to the ground, struggling with his machine gun. It fired into the air. Several cabins' lights came on, the occupants stunned and panicked by the noise.

At last Jim wrenched the weapon away and delivered a harsh punch, then another. The guard fell back, dazed.

"And once again your skills have come in handy," Arte smiled from the window.

Jim looked up. "What's going on in there?"

"Oh . . ." Arte casually leaned on the sill. "Between a very angry cat, a furious cat owner, and a determined golf club owner, poor Mabel just didn't have a chance. The disgusted security chief has been holding a gun on her too, in case she still thinks she has a chance of getting past all that."

"And you were standing by, of course," Jim added.

"Of course," Arte smiled. "Just in case I'd be needed somewhere. But fighting really isn't my thing."

Coley picked up the phone in the room. "Hello? I want the police," he declared. "This is Coley Rodman, head of security at the Oak Bridge Golf Club. We've got a couple of thieves here who just tried to kill five people and a cat. Yeah, a cat."

Jane walked away from the scene in triumph, a piece of Mabel's pant leg in her teeth. The woman, shaken, slumped to the floor, Ray still gripping her wrists. Mrs. Featherstone stood over her, the chair held threateningly.

"Sure, they'll keep till you come," Coley said. "But get here fast anyway. We'd like to get some sleep while there's still nighttime left."

Ray looked over at his friend, smiling fondly. The nightmare with Jason Everly and his confederates was finally over. The portal wasn't going to take Coley away. And Jim and Arte might even be able to visit in the future.

Things were definitely looking up.

xxxx

"Pinto?"

Pinto looked up as Lucrece pushed open the door and stepped into the room. She had gotten herself to a point where she felt presentable, while Cyril had helped Pinto change clothes and get into bed.

He smiled, reaching out a hand for her. "Hey."

She came over, taking his hand in hers. "How are you feeling?" she asked in all sincerity.

"I'm good. Better, now that you're back."

She shook her head, her voice cracking. "When I saw you fall . . ."

He gripped her hand. "When I fell," he interrupted, "I told myself I had to hang on this time. I was going to pull through. Not that I ever wanted to die or felt like I didn't want to live for myself, but this time I knew you cared what happened to me. I wasn't going to let you down for anything."

"If you'd been closer to the explosion you wouldn't have been able to have helped dying," Lucrece said bitterly. "All the willpower in the world wouldn't have saved you. And there might not have been enough of your body left to . . . to even try restoring you again."

"It might not even work more than once," Pinto mused. "Death's a natural part of life; nobody could cheat it all the time." He brushed the hair away from her face. "But nevermind that. It didn't happen and I'm here. Everything's okay."

"It was that Snakes' fault," Lucrece said in anger. "If he's still alive, he'd best hope I never hear of it. I'll shoot him on sight if I see him again."

"He's probably scattered all over that mountain," Pinto replied. "And if he's not, I don't think you'll have to worry about him hangin' around L.A. Florence and her organization will all be out for his blood now, too. He tried to fix his problems and only gave himself some more."

Lucrece sat on the edge of the bed. "Too bad for him."

"Meanwhile . . ." Pinto pushed himself up farther. "That thing we were talking about right before all heck broke loose? I've been thinking about it again. Lucrece, I want to do it proper and ask you to marry me. Will you?"

Lucrece stared at him. She had expected that to come, really, and yet it still managed to be a shock. "When?" was all she could think to say.

"Well, I'd like it to be sooner instead of later, but it should be at a time and a place that we'd both feel good about," Pinto replied.

Lucrece was still staring, still trying to comprehend. She had not seriously imagined marriage since her childhood. She had not even thought that she wanted it. But she had already told Pinto that she _did_ want it—with him, anyway—and she knew it was true.

She shook herself back into the present. "Yes," she said. "It should be. And we'll find out what that time and place is.

"I will marry you, Pinto. I want to, before anything else goes wrong."

Pinto smiled. "It should probably be soon then."

Lucrece leaned in and kissed him. "It probably should."


	29. Epilogue

**Notes: Wow, what a long and wild ride this has been. It's definitely my longest fic to date. And I'm looking forward to writing the next installment in the series, **_**The Night of the Deadly Codename. **_**Thank you so much for your interest, your comments, and your reviews! And thanks also to everyone who has been reading silently. I've loved having you onboard to share this tale!**

**Epilogue**

"Well, folks, this should be our final test right here."

Arte stood in front of the mysterious portal, speaking to his audience of three. Before them, the doorway to 1874 stood both wide-open and calm, no different than any normal doorway.

Arte had been working feverishly on the portal for days, delivering stronger and stronger beams of electricity and other energy in an attempt to break it open the rest of the way. He had not dared to use any more explosives, fearing a dangerous outcome for anyone nearby at the time. Snow was still loose all over the mountain from the blast. But he felt that the electrical treatments had at last completely opened the portal.

Ray looked apprehensive. "Assuming this last test works, what's going to happen next? You haven't rounded up Miss Posey's gang yet. You didn't try to get them here for this, either."

Jim stepped forward. "Arte and I decided that for now, since it's been so long, we should hurry back to 1874 and find out what's been happening in our absence."

Arte nodded. "Somehow we're going to have to explain to Colonel Richmond everything that's happened," he said. "We were hoping we could find a way around that, but there honestly isn't one. He'll have to know everything, including about the portal and where we've really been."

"And then you plan to come back over," Ray said.

"Oh, if we can, we'll be back plenty of times, not just to catch the Posey gang," Arte smiled.

"You should try to see if you can come back for Christmas," said Ray.

Arte's eyes lit up. "We'd love to," he declared.

He had worked on the portal in between his remaining driving sessions from the school and the supplemental ones with Ray. He was very proud that he had received his license, and he fully intended to be back to use it, if the portal would allow. Today, after what he hoped was his last treatment on the portal, he—and not Ray—had driven everyone to the airfield to meet the helicopter.

Still recovering, Coley had been standing by, silently watching. He reached into his pocket, taking out an envelope. "Gordon . . . will you mail this when you get back?" He held it out and Arte took it.

"Oakland, California," he mused. "For your mother?"

"Yeah," Coley nodded. "Let her know I'm alright. And if you can fix that immunity, I'll come by to visit. Maybe I could even bring Ray with me sometime."

Ray smiled. "I'd like that."

Arte pocketed the envelope. "Of course I'll mail it."

Coley relaxed. "Thanks."

Arte looked back to the portal but continued to hesitate. "Well, how shall we do this?" he wondered. "Which of us should try it out first? You know, I really do detest goodbyes. And since we don't know if whoever goes through will be able to get back, we should at least say them."

"Let's not," Ray protested quickly. "Let's just hope that this will work both ways, for coming and going. Anyway, if one of you goes through and gets stuck, how will one man round up the entire Posey gang here?!"

"It won't be easy," Jim admitted, "but I'm up for that task."

Arte nodded. "Then I suppose I'd better go through the portal. It's too bad we can't test this with an animal. Send him through, then call him back."

"But we don't have an animal." Jim gripped Arte's hand. "Good luck."

"Thank you. And if you have to stay behind to bring in the gang by yourself, do be good, won't you?" Arte tried to smirk, but it wasn't convincing. He was worried about the thought of them being separated again. He wanted to know that everything would be alright. But it would only take a split-second for something to go irreparably wrong.

"I should give that same request to you, Arte," Jim replied. "You'll be back home with all of our favorite Victorian-era women, wining and dining them every night, taking them to the theatre . . ."

"Ohh, don't tempt me," Arte sighed. "As if I'll have time for that in between trying to convince Colonel Richmond that I'm not utterly devoid of my mind."

"You have the pictures we've taken," Jim said. "That should help."

Arte patted his pocket. "I'll guard them with my life."

He looked from Jim to Coley and Ray. "Well, I guess I'd better stop putting it off. Coley, I'll do everything I can to secure that immunity for you, but if I can't, you still have an honest life here to live. Something I'm very proud and happy to see."

"You had a lot to do with getting me here to have it," Coley said. "I won't forget that."

"I won't, either," Ray echoed. "And I won't forget all the times the four of us spent together." He swallowed hard. "I hope there'll be more."

"Oh yes, how I would love to see Wal-Mart again," Arte said, his eyes twinkling. "Well, if all goes well and we can both get through safely, we'll be back here as soon as possible."

Forcing himself to stop delaying, he took a deep breath and walked through the portal.

It really was as simple as entering another room. He stood on the hill, surveying the area. In the daytime, Justice was not visible from here at all. He had brought enough water to sustain him on the journey to town. But first, it was time to turn around and try to get back through the portal.

The familiar sound of a horse whinnying stopped him in his tracks. He turned, looking towards the direction of the sound. A beautiful black gelding was standing and looking at him, ears twitching, not sure what to make of his sudden appearance.

"Why, hello," Arte greeted. "What on earth are you doing here? Did you run away from town? Or off the train?"

"Arte?"

He jumped a mile. He could hear Jim's voice on the other side of the portal.

"Arte, what's going on over there?"

The horse could hear Jim, too. And suddenly he was running, tearing for the portal at top speed.

Arte turned, his heart in his throat as he dove back through the portal. "Jim!" he called, not even thinking about what he had just accomplished. "You have a friend here who feels that your reunion is long overdue."

"Arte, you made it back!" Jim exclaimed. Coley and Ray looked both relieved and perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

But the horse rushed through before Arte had the chance to explain. He nuzzled Jim in sheer joy, whinnying in greeting to his master, long thought dead.

And Jim smiled, putting his arm around his faithful steed's neck as he patted him and spoke to him softly.

Yes, it had been long overdue.

_Several days later, circa 1874_

"Mrs. Rodman?"

The woman looked puzzled as she opened her door and came face-to-face with a man she vaguely remembered as Artemus Gordon, Secret Service agent. "Yes?"

Arte smiled. "I have some news about your son."

She gripped the door, almost looking faint. "He's not dead?" she choked out, fearing the answer.

"He's not dead," Arte assured her. He took out the envelope. "He wrote this. I was supposed to mail it, but I decided it would be better to deliver it in person. Sometimes the mail gets lost, after all."

She received the envelope with shaking hands, tearing it open and extracting two items—a letter and a photograph. She looked at the picture, bewildered, read the letter, and looked back to the picture.

"He's alive?" she whispered, as if to speak louder would break the beautiful spell and reveal it as false. "And in another time?"

"He's alive and well and has started a new and honest life for himself," Arte assured her. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but whatever he wrote about falling through a portal to the year 2012 is all true. I've been there myself." He tapped the photograph. "This is him with Ray Norman and their kitty friend Jane. She insisted on getting into the picture."

Mrs. Rodman stared at the picture, running her hand over the image of her son. "He looks so happy," she said softly.

"He is. And because of all that he did in trying to help Mr. West and I on a vital mission, we're currently trying to arrange for him to be granted complete immunity." Arte nodded to Jim, who was waiting by their carriage. "If it goes through, he'll be able to come here and visit you."

She looked up at him, a tear slipping down her cheek. "This is all so hard to take in," she said. "I've been so afraid he was already laying dead somewhere, or that he'd be arrested and hanged. A lot of the horrible things people said he'd done he didn't even do."

"I know, Mrs. Rodman," Arte said soothingly. "I know. He's a truly good man. And I'm proud to say he's my friend."

She fell into his arms, embracing him. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Oh thank you."

_Same day, circa December 2012_

Coley was sitting at the computer in Ray's office, examining the website he had found weeks ago about his mother. He had struck up a habit of checking it each day, hoping that when the letter reached her in the past, the information about her in the present would be altered. Now, as he refreshed the page once more, his eyes widened. The text had changed.

"Ray!" he called. "Look at this."

Ray came over from where he had been idly rearranging his golfing trophies. Jane, perched on the desk, padded over so she could see the screen.

"'Ilene Rodman always maintained that she knew her son was still alive, although she wouldn't say how she knew,'" Ray read.

Coley leaned back with a smile. "They did it," he said. "It worked; she knows."

Jane purred, half-closing her eyes in contentment.

Ray laid his hand on Coley's shoulder. "I'm glad," he said. "Maybe your immunity will go through soon, too."

"Maybe it will," Coley said. "But even if it doesn't, like Gordon said, I've got my life to live here. And that's just fine for me." He stood up. "I'd better check on the security cameras."

"Are you expecting any trouble?" Ray asked.

"No. Are you?"

Ray thought about it. He was still worried about the thought of Portman breaking out and finding him. To some extent, he probably always would be. But it was not a driving force in his mind any longer. Coley had helped him get over that.

"No," he said with a smile. "No, I'm not, either."


End file.
